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1 


Pisces’ Child 

By 

Aletha Caldwell Conner 



SOUTHWEST PRESS 

Publishers in and of the Southwest 
DALLAS, TEXAS 






















Copyright 1934 

Southwest Press 


4 . 

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0CT -2 1934 1 





In appreciation of 
their faith and encouragement 
This book is dedicated to 
My father and mother 
Mr. and Mrs J. W. Caldwell 
Two sturdy pioneers 








































FOREWARD 


Based upon the popular assumption that man’s life and 
happiness are dependent upon the phenomena in the 
heavens, and the certainty that the fertility of the soil 
is entirely dependent upon the sun shining above as 
well as upon the moisture that comes from the heav¬ 
ens, the conclusion is naturally drawn that all the 
great ruling gods have their seat in the heavens. 

Certain it is, the sun, moon, and stars do, in a large 
measure, influence man’s physical and mental life. It is 
noticeable that some persons, even in childhood, show 
traits of character more pronounced than do other 
members of the same family born in the same environ¬ 
ment but under other planetary positions. 

Astrological indications under which Alma Coleman 
was born, would suggest that she was predestined for a 
colorful and hectic life. The sign at this time was in 
Pisces and Neptune was in the ascendency. Mars at the 
same time was in conjunction with Venus! 

Truly a most unusual combination. 












CHAPTER I 


"We are now entering the Indian Territory!” 

With the conductor’s words, uttered in a sonorous 
voice, Alma Coleman straightened up in the seat, 
pushed back some straggling locks of hair, rubbed her 
eyes and eagerly looked from the window of a west¬ 
bound passenger train into the gathering shades of a 
late October day in eighteen-hundred and eighty-seven. 

The sun was low in the west; weird shadows in hill¬ 
side depressions made it easy for the imaginative girl 
to picture fearsome beings, their minds filled with evil 
intent, creeping furtively over the earth’s surface, ad¬ 
vancing upon the unsuspecting occupants of the slow- 
moving train which was now entering their domain. 

For hours she had been in a fever of impatience at 
their slow progress, and two days and nights spent in 
constant travel had almost satisfied her desire for 
adventure. 

In company with her mother, she was en route to join 
her father at a government post in the Indian Terri¬ 
tory where he had been stationed for over a year. 

Ever since she had known that the romantic land of 
the Red Man was to become her home, she had hungrily 
read all the literature she could find concerning that 
mysterious and fascinating country, Indian Territory! 

In school her mind had lingered over the geography 
that had included "Indian Territory.” Even though it 
was pictured as an unexplored wilderness, as a menagerie 
1 


2 


Pisces* Child 


peopled with savages where a white man’s life was in 
daily peril, she knew from her father’s letters such was 
not the case. The land was not a barren desert, and 
there were many white people with the usual amount of 
refinement and intelligence living there. 

The geographies, histories, and encyclopedias which 
she read had afforded her no satisfying information. But 
they did tell her that early in the sixteenth century, 
Coronado and his army of conquest had marched into 
a wild, scantily populated country that for a long time 
had been known as "Indian Territory.” That the Indians 
had gazed in wonder at the paleface intruders was com¬ 
mon knowledge, but only legends survived the visit of 
the conquistadores. 

Trails worn into the hard, red soil by those hardy 
adventurers grew dimmer and dimmer, and the flowers 
that their feet trampled down revived and lived again, 
while the romantic story of their coming was handed 
down from father to son. 

As Alma now listened to the click-clickety-click of 
metal wheels rolling over rough rail joints, she visual¬ 
ized Indians. Indians! A word to conjure up ferocious 
creatures, befeathered, war-painted; gruesome, sinister 
trophies of the scalping knife dangling at their side as 
they stood bow in hand, bow-string taut, ready for a 
shot at a human mark . . . blood-stained tomahawks 
ominously displayed. 

The train entered a cluster of towering hills, covered 
with a dense growth of scrub jack-oaks and stunted 
cedar. As the sun passed from sight behind them, fan¬ 
tastic shapes formed in their midst. 


Pisces* Child 


3 


The engine was puffing and groaning as it crawled 
up a long, winding grade. Alma saw a lone horseman 
silhouetted against the evening sky. “An Indian on 
guard,” she thought with aroused interest—she fully 
expected everyone in the Territory to be Indian, regard¬ 
less of her father’s letters to the contrary. 

Soon, in circling the hills, they passed the horseman. 
Even in the dim light his features were clearly defined. 
Her eyes automatically photographed the visage and 
filed it away for future reference. 

She had found, one day in her grandfather’s orchard, 
a little bird fluttering helplessly in the hypnotic stare 
of a huge black snake. She had frightened the reptile 
away, and the bird, twittering with relief, had flown 
away. Now, with the man’s passing from sight, she felt 
that she could understand more fully that bird’s 
reaction. 

An occasional "toot-toot!” coming from the engine 
was, to her distorted fancy, the whoop of warriors as 
they danced around camp fires. "Fire,” her father had 
once written, "is an Indian’s community symbol—some¬ 
times his only means of communication. Dancing is his 
way of expressing community spirit—religious, festal, 
and at times portent of a deadly, stealthy preparation for 
war!” 

Darkness settled over the landscape, and Alma turned 
her attention to the other occupants of the car. When¬ 
ever a booted foot moved, she could hear the tinkle of 
spurs. The men’s hats were so large she fancied the 
wearers’ heads must surely ache. 

Complacently she glanced down at her own garments 


4 


Pisces* Child 


to carefully smooth out the folds and creases in her 
dress. She recalled having overheard some one say that 
it had been made from one of Aunt Bet’s own dresses 
in anticipation of her marriage to Ben Harrison, which, 
for some unexplained reason, had never taken place. 
She smiled now with recollection of Uncle Jim’s ob¬ 
servance: 

"Them sleeves look like two big hams tacked onto 
your shoulders.” 

Aunt Bet had tartly informed him that a man was 
not supposed to understand nor appreciate the mysteries 
of a woman’s dress. That had squelched him! 

Even though Alma was but twelve years old, Aunt 
Bet’s words, "a woman’s dress,” had thrilled her, for she 
imagined herself quite grown-up. It was a beautiful 
dress—azure merino, trimmed with band upon band of 
blue plush the shade of her eyes. A full skirt was gath¬ 
ered onto the waist with fine, even stitches—the fullness 
in the back held by a tiny bustle—the first one she had 
ever worn. 

Except for Alma, all the passengers in the coach 
were asleep. With no one to admire her splendid appear¬ 
ance nor to talk to her, she soon lost interest in her 
surroundings. Closing her eyes, she mentally reviewed 
the incidents which led up to the start of this porten- 
tious journey. 

She recalled how pleased her father had been when 
Ben Harrison, serving on a committee on Indian Affairs, 
had come down from Indianapolis, offering him an 
appointment as "A Special Indian Agent” in the Terri- 


Pisces’ Child 


5 


tory. Grandfather Sherman had also been pleased with 
the appointment. 

Her thoughts ran into a jumble; her head dropped 
back against the seat, her eyes closed, and she was asleep. 

In her dreams she heard a band playing, its music 
growing louder with its approach. She dreamed she was 
standing on the roof of a large building which seemed 
to be quite near Ben Harrison’s Indianapolis home. 
People were shouting. A carriage was coming down the 
flag-lined, crowded street. In the carriage was her father 
and Ben Harrison! Leaning over, trying to attract their 
attention, she slipped and began to fall dizzily through 
space. With the wind whistling about her ears for what 
seemed hours, she landed with a thud against some hard 
object that hurt her head. 

"Alma,” she heard her mother cry. "Alma! Are you 
hurt, child? Get up. ...” 

She found the train was no longer moving. Its sudden 
stop had thrown her violently forward, first against the 
seat, then to the floor. Her head had plunged into a box 
in which had been Great-grandmother DeLannes* old 
silver bowl. The bowl was now tightly down on her 
head. She removed it with some effort. 

When they were in the carriage ready to start to 
Indianapolis, Aunt Bet had held up a large box, saying: 

"Emmie, you keep this for Alma. It’s our silver bowl. 
I have no near relative to whom I can give it, and I 
want her to have it.” 

She recalled the funny expression that had slipped 
over her mother’s face, and how Uncle Jim had "haw- 
hawed” right out loud, though they were all crying. 


6 


Pisces" Child 


"What you’d best give the kid,” he had said, "is that 
switch of yours. She’ll likely need that when some play- ‘ 
ful redskin lifts her scalp.” 

A disturbance arose near the front of the train, and 
the conductor could be heard remonstrating: 

"Wes, I tell you, you’re going to pull this stunt once 
too often!” 

"Si hoka!” came in another voice. Peering from the 
window the girl saw shadowy forms moving; then the 
door opened and several booted, spurred, grim-faced 
men entered. Dark stains that looked like blood were 
on their faces, and their garments were mud-stained and 
torn. 

Leaning on the arm of a dark-complected man was a 
strikingly beautiful woman. She seemed to be in pain 
and rested her weight upon one foot protruding from 
the folds of a voluminous "split skirt.” Gleaming spurs 
on the heels of her boots caught and reflected the lamp 
light, and a broad-brimmed hat was pulled down low 
over her forehead, almost concealing jet-black hair and 
sparkling dark eyes that flashed appraisingly over the 
coach. 

"You all jest tend to yer own business, and you all 
will not be bothered a-tall,” the dark-complected man 
declared, as he settled himself beside the lady facing the 
other occupants of the car. Alma noticed that they were 
all heavily armed, vicious guns within instant reach of 
their hands. 

Even to the most casual observer, it was apparent that 
the woman was in command. With wide fascinated eyes, 
Alma watched her every move. After a time, the woman 


Pisces* Child 


7 


seemed to notice the girl’s absorbed attention. Turning 
to her companion, she made some remark that brought 
from him an indignant protest. The man’s opposition 
seemed to anger the woman and she loudly exclaimed: 

"Do as I say immediately!” The man hesitated, and 
she asked, angrily, "Well . . . what are you waiting 
for?” 

Muttering in an undertone, the man rose to his feet 
and stalked down the aisle to the seat where Alma sat. 
Mrs. Coleman frowned her disapproval but was ignored. 

"The Chief wants you,” he declared in a surly tone, 
glancing at Alma. 

"I can’t allow my daughter ...” Mrs. Coleman 
objected. 

"Aw, ferget it!” the man gruffly interrupted. "Your 
precious child’s not goin’ to be hurt.” To Alma he com¬ 
manded, "Come on!” 

A place was made for the girl by the woman’s side, 
and she was asked many questions; who she was, where 
she was going, where she came from. Not a hint was 
given, however, as to their own identity or mission. 

The train stopped. Peering through the window, 
Alma again saw the ledge whereon the horseman had 
stood. He was still there. 

The fascinating lady and her companions took their 
departure. At the door she paused, flashed a smile in 
which a dimple appeared, and told Alma good-bye, 
adding, "See you again some day!” 

"Don’t make a fool of yourself, Belle,” one of the 
men cautioned. "That girl will squeal on you. You mark 
my words!” 


8 


Pisces’ Child 


With the train’s resuming its onward way, the pas¬ 
sengers discussed their late companions. The conductor, 
who was questioned, tersely remarked: 

"My observation is: it’s best not to know too much!” 

Interest lagged, and interrupted slumbers were re¬ 
sumed. 

It seemed but a few minutes before Alma felt a hand 
on her shoulder and heard her mother’s voice: 

"Wake up, daughter, we are almost there!” 

With the train coming to a final stop, they stepped 
down to a dark, deserted space in front of a small, dimly 
lighted building. Adjusting her eyes to the shadows, 
Alma saw a man approaching—an ordinary appearing 
man—carrying a smoking lantern. 

"Are you Missus Coleman?” he asked, awkwardly dof¬ 
fing his hat. The thought struck Alma that he was not 
accustomed to meeting ladies. 

With the lady’s acknowledgment that she was Mrs. 
Coleman, he informed them that he was going to take 
them up to his hotel to spend the remainder of the 
night. In the same breath he added that he was the only 
white man living thereabouts. 

Alma giggled. She wondered from where he had 
gotten the idea that he was white. In the lantern’s dim 
light he appeared as dark as the negro porter upon the 
train they had just left. In silence she picked up a grip 
and followed the bobbing lantern. 

"As they walked along, the man explained that they 
were still a long day’s journey from the Trading Post. 
"Joe Carter’ll be after you all airly in the mawnin’,” he 
said. 


Pisces" Child 


9 


The next morning they ate a breakfast of greasy 
food, served on an oilcloth table cover. When the driver 
arrived to carry them to camp, they were eagerly await¬ 
ing him. 

Alma looked at him in amazement. Never before had 
she seen such a man. Around his neck was tied a dark- 
colored handkerchief, to the corners of which were 
fastened odd-appearing little objects. She later learned 
these were rattlesnake rattles. His mustache reached 
almost to his waist, and his hat was the largest she had 
ever seen. He had on leggins, beaded and fringed. From 
each hip hung a pistol holster in which the butt of a 
gun could be seen. Twinkling eyes beneath shaggy, over¬ 
hanging brows, suggesting a keen sense of humor, indi¬ 
cated their owner’s appraisal of them. 

A rickety, ramshackle old carriage to which were 
fastened four of the scrawniest horses Alma had ever 
seen, was at the door. As she observed the lay-out, Alma 
felt a qualm of doubt and wondered whether or not 
these nags would survive until they reached their des¬ 
tination. 

The luggage was loaded and securely fastened to the 
top of the coach. The driver, who had introduced him¬ 
self simply as "Joe,” told them to "pile in.” Alma 
insisted on their sitting beside him on the high seat. 

After they were settled in a degree of comfort, the 
driver gathered up his lines, flourished a long whip and 
shouted, "Giddap!” With a snort, the horses strained 
into their harness and the coach began to roll forward. 
"So long!” the man shouted, waving his hand to those 
standing in the yard. "Goo-bye, Missus Beadle,” he 


10 


Pisces" Child 


added to the woman who came to the door to see them 
off . . . "See you next week.” 

Another crack of the whip, another snort from the 
horses, and in a cloud of red dust, they were on their 


CHAPTER II 


As the coach rolled along, Joe explained how chiefs of 
many tribes, in company with government officials, were 
in council on the banks of the New-sew-ket-onga River. 

According to his version, the government was trying 
to get the Indians to agree to a treaty, and if they were 
successful, the plan was to purchase from them out¬ 
right a large tract of land and then throw it open to 
home-seekers for settlement. 

Later in the morning the sun burst through some 
clouds, appearing over the tops of distant hills like a 
great crimson ball. The driver explained that such a 
fiery appearance was a sign of coming storm. 

"Looks like it might be a norther,” he added, squint¬ 
ing his eyes toward the coppery-colored sky. 

Between frequent pinches of snuff, Joe told them 
legends of the land of which they were to become a 
part. His opinion was that the criminal element was 
eventually going to become a greater menace to the 
United States than any other problem that would come 
up in their dealings with this section of the country. 

"The Territory is becoming the refuge of every out¬ 
law in the universe/’ he declared earnestly. "They are 
gradually pushing the Indians aside and gaining control 
of large land holdings.” 

About mid-afternoon they came to the banks of a 
small stream which moved sluggishly along the center 
of a wide stretch of white sand. For some time Alma had 


11 


12 


Pisces* Child 


noticed that Joe seemed much concerned over the ap¬ 
pearance of a low-hanging mass of brassy-colored 
clouds. With a little thrill of apprehension, she saw 
that they were now rising perceptibly. 

Stopping the horses, Joe insisted upon their entering 
the coach, and after they were settled inside, he began 
to urge his horses to greater speed. In a short time they 
were traveling too fast for the passengers* comfort or 
peace of mind. 

A strange, low whining became audible ... It could 
be distinctly heard in the air above their heads, even 
with the slithering noise the wheels made as they rolled 
through the deep sand. Then, suddenly and without 
warning, the earth seemed to open up in front of them 
in a blinding flash of lightning. Instantly a deafening 
crash of thunder rolled and rumbled overhead. The 
wind howled and screamed as though a thousand 
demons had been loosened and were venting their fury 
upon each other. There was no longer need to urge 
the horses. They plunged wildly forward, the coach 
reeled and rocked, at times almost turning over, as it 
bounced along the rough trail. 

Leaving the road, Joe guided his frightened animals 
into the grounds of a deserted mansion. In the shelter 
of what was once a protected driveway circling the 
building, they sat in the coach and watched water pour 
from the heavens. In the twinkling of an eye, the yard 
became a veritable lake. 

In answer to their numerous questions, Joe told them 
the history of their refuge. His narrative was punctuated 
by thunder claps. 


Pisces’ Child 


13 


Early in the nineteenth century, from his ancestral 
home near the Florida Everglades to the land west of 
the "Father of Waters,” came the last son of a proud 
and one-time wealthy family. Forced by the armed 
guards of a well-meaning government, he traveled with 
his family and slaves over that spirit-breaking "Trail of 
Tears,” the route of which is still marked by the graves 
of Indians who perished along the way in their west¬ 
ward migration. 

In the land pledged to them by the government to be 
theirs "so long as grass grows and water runs,” they 
established new homes as nearly like those left behind 
them as was possible to build. This pathetic building, 
according to Joe, had been the home of the clan’s heart¬ 
broken chief. It had been built for him by his faithful 
tribesmen and was almost an exact replica of his former 
southern home. 

Alma followed Joe’s story with deep sympathy in her 
heart for the outcast Indians. "Why is the place so neg¬ 
lected now?” she asked. "Is there no one to take care 
of it?” 

"Their slaves were freed by the Civil War, and there 
was no money to keep up the establishment; therefore, 
the owners were forced to let the place fall into decay. 
With the old clansman’s death, it fell to a younger son, 
and from him to a great-granddaughter of the original 
owner. Now, she seems to be in disgrace with her kins¬ 
men, who say she is no longer one of them.” 

"How interesting,” Alma murmured. "I wonder 
why?” 

"Well,” Joe seemed to ponder, studying his reply, "I 


14 


Pisces* Child 


guess they can’t countenance her being in cahoots with 
them outlaws!” 

As he ended the utterance, a vari-colored rainbow 
spread across the sky. The sun burst through a dark mass 
of clouds; there came a vivid flash of lightning, fol¬ 
lowed by a final crash of thunder and the storm was 
over as suddenly as it had begun. 

"Rain’s over, I reckon,” Joe observed, stepping clear 
of the building. "But,” he added, "from the looks of 
that creek, we’ll be staying here a spell.” 

Alma ran to his side to stop and stare at the once tiny 
creek that had become a raging, foaming torrent. Great 
trees and logs, carried forward by a terriffic force, were 
floating over the trail they had but recently followed. 

"Lucky for us that we got through when we did,” 
Joe exclaimed. "Not often a cloud burst comes this time 
of year. This is sure a dinger!” 

With blankets to insure their comfort and plenty of 
food in the chuck-box, Joe told them there was no 
cause for uneasiness. The high water would recede by 
morning, and they could go on. Mrs. Coleman was dis¬ 
appointed, but Alma was thrilled with the prospect of 
a night of camping out. 

After the horses were cared for, Joe demonstrated 
his dexterity with coffee pot and frying pan. The result 
was a meal fit for a king. 

Masses of soggy undergrowth covered the ground. 
Pools of water made strolling around impossible. The 
old building was dark, gloomy, and uninviting. With 
the sun’s sinking out of sight, darkness settled swiftly. 
The early night air was damp and cold. Seating them- 


Pisces* Child 


15 


selves near the fire, Alma and her mother listened as 
Joe told them tales of the noted people who had, at 
times, made their home within these walls which now 
were desolate and forlorn. 

General Houston and Talihina, his Indian wife whom 
the Americans called Dianna; General Taylor and his 
son-in-law, Jefferson Davis, President of the Confeder¬ 
ate States; Washington Irving, and the great poet, Long¬ 
fellow, each had, it seemed, contributed to the history 
of the place. 

Later in the evening when all was quiet, Alma recalled 
the late incidents. It was hard for her to realize that so 
much could have occurred in such a short interval of 
time. 

Morning dawned bright and clear. No trace of the 
previous day’s storm was to be seen in the sky. The 
stream was, however, still a wide rolling mass of red- 
foam-crested water. 

Their journey temporarily halted, Alma slipped away 
after breakfast to explore the grounds surrounding the 
old mansion. Peeping into the old building, she tried to 
visualize its one-time grandeur. The floors were of wide 
oak boards, the ceilings of massive rough-hewn beams, 
smoke-stained and dark with age; huge fireplaces were 
dark caverns, giving mute evidence of the many glow¬ 
ing fires that had been kindled in their depths. In her 
fancy she pictured four-posted beds, walnut highboys, 
Windsor chairs and spinning wheels in the rooms, sim¬ 
ilar to those in "Maplecrest,” her grandfather’s Indiana 
home. 

Leaving the fascinating old building, she strolled on- 


16 


Pisces* Child 


ward, unaware of bright, curious eyes intently watch¬ 
ing her every move. Then a faint noise aroused her. 

She felt the vibration of feet trampling upon the 
earth and dreaded to turn her head, fearing she’d see 
murderous Indians advancing with upraised tomahawks. 
Curiosity gradually overcame fear and, slowly turn¬ 
ing her head, she saw an innocent herd of deer standing 
poised, ready for instant flight, uncertain as to what 
specie of animal she might be. After a few moments 
their curiosity evidently became satisfied, and they 
moved leisurely on, stopping at intervals to nibble 
at leaves or tempting grass blades. One by one they 
blended into the foliage and were lost to view. 

With the departure of the deer, a covey of turkeys 
came strolling into the yard. The warlike leader gob¬ 
bled savagely and ruffed his feathers when he found 
their feeding grounds occupied. Alma noticed that 
although they seemed unafraid of her, they quickly 
returned to the shelter of the timber. 

The sun was long past the meridian, but the stream 
was still too swift for the cumbersome coach to cross. 
Unwilling to wait longer, Joe loaded the mail sacks and 
some of the lighter luggage on two of the horses. After 
assisting Mrs. Coleman to mount one of the two remain¬ 
ing horses, he then helped Alma onto the other one and 
climbed on behind her. In this manner they crossed the 
stream. 

They followed the trail until a dark range of hills 
paralleling the swollen stream rose before them. The 
sun settled below the horizon. The monotony of the 
jogging horseback ride brought fatigue. The moon came 


Pisces’ Child 


17 


up as a silver ball and spread a soft sheen over the 
landscape. 

Suddenly from a near-by hilltop there came a succes¬ 
sion of weird cries as though some person was in dis¬ 
tress. From a distance came another series of howls that 
made them catch their breath. 

"Nothing to be afraid of,” Joe assured them. "Just a 
couple of ornery, lonesome coyotes! Why, they’d run 
from their own shadows, they’re so cowardly.” 

After a few more weary miles their guide stopped his 
horse and called attention to some twinkling lights in 
the distance. 

"It won’t be long now! That’s the Trading Post, and 
I ’low some one’s anxious for us to get there.” 

An army of dogs set up a clamorous welcome as the 
travelers approached. Joe stopped in front of a long, 
low building whose lighted windows had guided them 
across the prairie. The barking of the dogs grew more 
vociferous. 

Some one had evidently been on the watch for them. 
Above the confusion caused by the dogs, a shrill treble 
was heard. 

"Here they are, Pop! Here’s Joe and he’s got the 
Colemans with him!” 

A door opened, revealing a man and woman who 
peered into the darkness for an instant before rushing 
out to add their excited voices to the medley. 

It seemed to the eager-eyed girl that the yard was 
full of dogs and children, but as their excitement be¬ 
came more subdued and their welcome less clamorous, 
she found there were in reality only three dogs and two 


18 


Pisces’ Child 


children. From letters written by her father she recog¬ 
nized the Trading Post Missionary, Mr. Murdough, and 
his family. 

They were all very cordial, but Mr. Murdough’s very 
first words conveyed disappointing news. 

"Too bad Mr. Coleman didn’t get home before you 
got here.” 

His voice made Alma think of the pump on her 
grandmother’s back porch—it was high and squeaky. 
Before she saw his face, she visualized his appearance 
and decided that she was not going to care for Mr. 
Murdough. 

"Yes,” Mrs. Murdough agreed. "It is too bad, but 
I’m sure he’ll get home tomorrow. Anyway, you folks 
come right into the house. I’m sure glad you’re here. 
You must be wore plumb to a frazzle ridin’ that horse 
without even a surry-cingle to hang onto. And it didn’t 
rain a drop here either.” She talked rapidly without 
stopping to catch a breath. 

Mrs. Coleman admitted that she was tired. Alma 
could hear the tears in her voice. She, too, was disap¬ 
pointed in not finding her father. 

"Supper’s all ready and waitin’ for you,” Mrs. Mur¬ 
dough said. Her voice had a comforting, cuddling 
sound. Alma decided she was going to like her. She was 
forced to smile, though, as the lady bustled about, try¬ 
ing to express her pleasure in their presence. . . . "For 
all the world like grandmother’s old dominecker hen 
the first time her brood of ducklings went out on the 
pond,” Anna whispered to her mother as Mrs. Mur¬ 
dough picked up first one object then another to put 


Pisces’ Child 


19 


them back in the same place, making no progress at all 
in her excitement. 

Entering the house they met another member of the 
family ... a blonde young man . . . Mrs. Mur- 
dough explained that he was Mr. Murdough’s youngest 
brother, “Jim ” 

Alma barely repressed a dismayed cry. He was the 
man she’d seen beside the railroad track two evenings 
before, in whose company the lady named “Belle” had 
ridden away! 

The unpleasant sensation she had experienced on that 
occasion was now intensified. As his gaze shifted from 
one to another, she felt he was keenly observing them. 
Her eyes met his and she felt embarrassed, much as 
though she’d been caught without proper clothing. Then 
Mrs. Murdough’s voice came as a welcome diversion. 

“Now you all set right down to the table. I just know 
you must be mite nigh starved to death!” 

A long table loaded with food stood in the center of 
the room. A beautifully browned turkey held the place 
of honor in the center; nuts, black-haws, great purple- 
blue grapes and golden persimmons crowded each other 
for next best place. 

Had Alma been told the scarecrow in her grand¬ 
father’s melon patch had suddenly come to life and was 
in the room, she would have recognized it in Mr. Mur- 
dough. He was tall and skinny and had a hatchet-shaped 
face which she doubted ever smiled. His skin was wrin¬ 
kled and yellow. A long, faded mustache hung from 
his upper lip as though too discouraged to do otherwise. 


20 


Pisces’ Child 


His hair was a washed-out red and so thin he had the 
appearance of having been scalped. 

When they were seated he clasped his hands before 
him, piously lifting his eyes to the ceiling, and voiced 
a long drawn-out prayer of thanksgiving for the many 
blessings he and his family enjoyed. Alma wondered 
vaguely just for what he had to be thankful. From the 
tone of his words she fancied that all the sins of the 
universe must be resting on his shoulders. 

Peeping through her fingers, she caught Joe’s eye, and 
when he solemnly winked at her, she giggled. Mr. 
Murdough stammered and frowned in displeasure at 
her lack of dignity. 

Mrs. Murdough realized her guests’ weariness and, as 
soon as the meal was over, marshalled them off to bed. 

A long hall, "gallery” Mrs. Murdough called it, sep¬ 
arated their room from the rest of the building. Upright 
logs, chinked with red mud, formed the walls of the 
room, and the floor was of rough boards over which 
rugs, skins, and blankets were scattered, as they were in 
the room they first had entered. 

A home-made bedstead, heaped high with feather¬ 
beds, stood in one corner of the room. Alma dropping 
onto it, was almost smothered in its depths. 

Everything soon became quiet. Alma lay listening to 
a chorus of crickets as she watched wraith-like clouds 
drift lazily across the sky. The windows were uncur¬ 
tained and objects outside were sharply outlined in the 
bright moonlight. 

Fires were burning in an Indian village near by. The 
twinkling of these could be seen from time to time. The 


Pisces* Child 


21 


howl of a dog in the distance occasionally broke the 
eerie silence. 

Alma slipped from her bed, went to the window and 
surveyed the Trading Post. By day it was dull and 
commonplace, but in the moonlight it had a romantic, 
poetic aspect. She imagined it a stage whereon great 
dramas were enacted . . . plays such as she had seen 
many times in Indianapolis . . . plays in which love, 
hate, and passion met and clashed. 

Her absorbed eyes caught sight of some moving ob¬ 
ject coming in a line from the direction of the Indian 
village toward the Post. For a time she watched it, 
unable to determine whether it was human or beast. A 
queerly garbed human, she thought. She suddenly 
realized it was an Indian! Over-developed imagination 
immediately put a sinister motive upon his movements. 
All the gruesome stories she had read and heard came 
to her mind. She could, in fancy, feel herself being 
scalped. 

On his head the Indian wore a great ruff of feathers 
that made him look much like a turkey gobbler. A 
blanket was wrapped around his body, and his legs 
were encased in baggy trousers. He walked swiftly on 
moccasin-clad feet. 

Slipping back into the shadows, her heart almost 
stopped beating as she watched him draw a long knife 
from his garments, and, as though testing its sharpness, 
lightly ran his finger over it. She tried to scream but 
could not utter a word. Her throat felt paralyzed. 

Seemingly satisfied with his inspection of the knife, 
the Indian next turned his attention to the building. 


22 


Pisces’ Child 


Standing for a short time, he silently surveyed its walls, 
then slowly began to advance. Still her limbs refused to 
move in obedience to her mind’s command, and her 
throat failed to respond to all her efforts to scream. 

The Indian was almost to the window, but then with 
a last desperate commandeering of strength, she man¬ 
aged to scream. Everything was in an instant turmoil. 
Mrs. Coleman sprang from the bed and came rushing 
to her side. Shouts and cries of alarm came from dif¬ 
ferent parts of the building as the household was 
aroused. 

Mr. and Mrs. Murdough came in. Even in her extreme 
excitement, Alma took note of Mr. Murdough’s long, 
skinny legs protruding from the bottom of his night 
shirt. The cap on his head made her think of a witch’s 
bonnet. Mrs. Murdough reminded her of a big, fat 
pillow with a string tied tightly around its middle. 
Anxiously they asked her the cause of alarm. 

Alma could point only to the window. The old Indian 
stood there with his face plastered to the pane. His 
unconcern upon their looking his way assured Alma 
that his intentions were harmless. 

Mr. Murdough smiled. Alma was amazed at the trans¬ 
formation of his features. Going to the window, he 
threw up the sash. 

"Sugar, what are you doing here?” he demanded 
impatiently. "Can’t you see you are frightening the 
paleface papoose? Get out! Vamoose!” 

"Ugh!” grunted the old Indian. An amused expres¬ 
sion lighted his taciturn features as, mumbling and 


Pisces* Child 


23 


grunting, he waddled off in the direction from whence 
he had come. 

"You are perfectly safe,” Mr. Murdough assured them 
as he lowered the window. "Sugar is a harmless old 
fellow. He was only anxious to see his Heap Big Chief’s 
squaw and papoose.” 

Before they left the room the Murdoughs related some 
of the Indian’s history. From their words it seemed that 
Sugar was a wonderful character, over eighty years of 
age. His father, member of a one-time prominent 
Delaware tribe, had been one of General George Wash¬ 
ington’s most trusted scouts. Sugar lost both of his 
parents when he was a child, and he had been reared 
by a well-to-do Virginia couple who had treated him as 
though he were one of their own children. He had been 
among the first men to receive a degree from William 
and Mary College. 

Mr. Murdough explained that Sugar had lived a 
cultured life in Virginia’s capitol city until the urge in 
his blood became too strong to resist, and when his 
kinsmen made their westward trek in advance of the 
march of civilization, he reverted to type and left his 
eastern home, his friends and their cultured life behind 
him. Now, to all outward appearances, he was a non¬ 
descript, blanketed old Indian. 

The sun was sending its first rays across the sky in 
vari-colored shafts as Alma awoke. A mockingbird in 
a near-by tree broke out in a rapturous melody. From 
the Indian village the barking of dogs suddenly rent 
the morning stillness. Alma glanced at her mother and 
saw that she was still asleep. She dressed hurriedly, tip- 


24 


Pisces* Child 


toed to the door, peeped out, then quietly stepped into 
the long hall. 

The Trading Post buildings were of uniform design. 
They were built of rough logs, placed vertically, the 
cracks filled with red mud. They stood around a central 
open space. Each building had a large gallery in front 
and clapboard roofs extended low over their sides. 

A great range of hills rose directly back of the build¬ 
ings, and their dark heights extended into the purple 
distance. A placid little stream at the base of the hills 
sounded a musical trickle as it swept over its boulder- 
strewn course. 

One building standing slightly apart from the others 
was almost covered with a luxuriant vine loaded with 
large waxy-white flowers. Alma wanted her mother to 
see them immediately and plucked a bloom with that 
in mind. Her attention was drawn by a noise from the 
near-by stream. She faced the direction from whence 
the sound had come. A number of horsemen were 
advancing towards the Trading Post. It was their voices 
she heard as they chanted an odd refrain. 

The hills standing out boldly against the blue sky 
made a picture that brought from the girl’s lips an 
exclamation of admiration. The mountain-sides were a 
mass of glowing, vibrating beauty. Varicolored hues 
were reflected from trees and shrubbery. To one side a 
great rock-ribbed, red clay butte reared its height into 
the heavens. A lone tree, its leaves a glistening bright 
green, stood on its top-most point. It had the appearance 
of a sentinel standing guard over the little settlement 
below. 


Pisces* Child 


25 


As she stood in the lush grass, engrossed in admira¬ 
tion of the scene spread like a canvas before her eyes, 
something clammy and cold slithered across her feet. 
Alma was immediately paralyzed with fright because of 
her inordinate fear of creeping things. She quickly 
directed her eyes to her feet and her blood ran cold 
when she discerned the coils of a shiny snake weaving 
in and out among the vegetation. 

Alma was mortally afraid of snakes, even the most 
harmless specie, and now she could stand only speechless 
as this reptile menacingly darted in and out its bright 
little forked tongue. Regaining control over her actions, 
she jumped wildly backwards and uttered a penetrating 
scream. 

The old Indian, Sugar, appeared miraculously, and 
reached quickly into the grass to toss away the snake. 

"Moonflower need not fear,” he said slowly. "That 
snake means you no harm.” 

According to the Indian custom he called her "Moon- 
flower” because the blossom in her hand caught her eye 
as he came to her rescue. 

The snake lay stunned for an instant where it hit the 
ground, then it slowly began to crawl back toward 
them. Alma sprang to the Indian’s side, her body 
trembling with fear. She clasped his arm tightly, and 
her eyes besook his protection. 

"Oh! Take it away!” she cried, "Don’t let it come 
near me!” 

Sugar loosened the girl’s clinging fingers and stooping 
over, fearlessly picked up the snake, carried it to a 


26 


Pisces" Child 


near-by box, in which he dropped it. Then turning 
back to the trembling girl, he said: 

"That’s one of Clara’s pets. I suppose he thought you 
were she.” 


CHAPTER III 


When Mrs. Murdough called "Breakfast,” Sugar 
slipped away quietly and Alma entered the house alone. 

They were no more than seated at the table when the 
yard suddenly became over-run with Indians, each 
accompanied by a complement of mangy, flea-bitten 
dogs. Fat squaws crowded each other in good-natured 
eagerness to see the palefaces. They were bedecked in 
billowy dresses of bright calico. Their skirts were 
trimmed with braid and bangles. Their spreading feet 
were covered with beaded moccasins. From their necks 
dangled strands of colored beads. On their arms many 
of them wore flashy rings and gaudy bangles. Practically 
all of them carried babies on their backs. From the 
security of their mothers’ shoulders, the dark-skinned 
beady-eyed papooses gazed with stolid indifference upon 
their surroundings. They seemed utterly content as 
they peered over the edges of their portable cradles. 

Some of the less timid squaws unceremoniously 
crowded into the room. With bold, but friendly, glances 
they laid beaded belts, moccasins, buckskin bags and 
other gifts before Mrs. Coleman and Alma. It was their 
method of saying "welcome.” They took a child-like 
pleasure in the gifts given them in return. The way they 
grunted and jabbered reminded Alma of a bunch of 
monkeys. 

A great commotion arose in the midst of their 
palaver. The shrill treble of children’s voices raised in 


27 


28 


Pisces* Child 


howls of pain and fright rent the air and mingled with 
the howl of fighting dogs. Everyone rushed outside 
immediately, and investigation proved that the children 
had sampled some of Mrs. Murdough’s peppers from a 
boxfull left on the porch to dry. As the cayenne got 
in its full effect on childish tongues, the shrill cries of 
pain increased. 

In the midst of the uproar some other horsemen were 
seen approaching across the prairie. As they drew near 
one rode rapidly in advance, waved his hat in the air and 
shouted. Although he was too far away for them to see 
his face, Alma recognized his voice. It was her father. 
She ran to meet him but stopped in amazement at his 
changed appearance. 

Alma had always seen her father so precise and dig¬ 
nified in appearance that at first she could not realize 
that this uncouth individual was he. Hair almost touch¬ 
ing his shoulders and long black whiskers covering his 
face . . . surely this was not her father! 

When he tried to take her in his arms she instinctively 
pulled back, but soon forgot her repugnance at his 
appearance in the joy of once more seeing him. The 
three men accompanying him, he explained, were Dave 
Jerome of Michigan, close friend of Ben Harrison, and 
Commissioner of Indian Affairs; Peter Fletcher, gover¬ 
nor of a near-by Indian Nation, and a younger man 
who was Mr. Peter Fletcher’s son, whom Alma at first 
glance had taken to be an Indian. 

Her eyes were irresistibly drawn to young Fletcher. 
He sat with somber eyes gazing straight ahead. He was 
a dark-skinned, dark-eyed handsome fellow. The horse 


Pisces" Child 


29 


he rode claimed her attention. It was a magnificent 
animal with long slender legs, high-arched neck, delicate 
nostrils and sharp-pointed ears, all of which she knew 
indicated a thoroughbred. Were it not that this horse 
had black feet, she would have been inclined to believe 
it was the same one she’d seen Jim Murdough riding. 
The horse seemed to realize that he was the object of 
the girl’s admiration. He tossed his head and she fancied 
he was saying, "Look at us; both my master and I are 
thoroughbreds! We should not be compelled to mix 
with common breeds!” 

The young man cast a hasty glance at Alma, then 
turned away with haughty, imperious dignity as though 
he had no interest in her. His eyes met hers for an 
instant, but no flicker of interest was allowed to register 
in his face. Silent as the proverbial Sphinx he sat, with 
never a move in the direction of the maiden with the 
flaxen hair and cornflower eyes. 

But the perverse little gods of mischief must have 
sat back just then and laughed, satisfied that they had 
brought together two of their favorite children — 
Ok-la-wa-ta, grandson of one of Tennessee’s proudest 
aristocrats, and Alma Coleman, Child of Pisces. 

Had an astrologer been present at that time, able to 
read and compare the horoscopes of those two, he would 
have seen that the tangled lines of their lives were closely 
interwoven. He would have seen, moreover, that the 
Indian youth was predestined to a life of conflicting 
emotional experiences and of colorful adventures. 

He was born while the sun was in Leo, and the 
planet Uranis also was directing an influence, more or 


30 


Pisces* Child 


less in conflict, over his life. No astrologer was there, 
however, and no premonition of their interlocked 
destinies came to them. 

The Indians planned a great festival in recognition 
of their visitors’ presence. Beginning with a "Stomp 
Dance” they planned a celebration which was to reach 
its apex in a big feast. By some mysterious method news 
of the impending ceremonies spread to outlying reser¬ 
vations. In a very short time Indians began to arrive, 
converging upon the Trading Post from every direction. 
As they met, they would greet each other by placing 
their right hands lightly on their foreheads and uttering 
the single word, "How?” 

A few Indians wore white man’s clothing, others 
were gorgeously clad in buckskin garments heavily 
beaded and fringed. A great many wore strands of 
vari-colored beads around their necks and their hair 
hung in long braids. Younger Indians wore their hair 
cut short, white man fashion, but all were bareheaded. 
Some wore tiny bells concealed in the fringe of their 
doe-skin shirts, and as these tinkled musically with their 
wearers’ movements, a festive note was added to the 
occasion. Other Indians were severely clad in buckskin 
shirts, leggins, moccasins and blankets. 

No-ka-wa-ta, Sugar’s son, was the clan’s chief, but 
Sugar appeared to be their real head. Alma noticed that 
he was invariably given the utmost respect by all. 

The signal for the beginning of the festivities came 
with the arrival of a band of young braves. They were 
gorgeously clad and fantastically painted. There was no 
mistaking the fact that they were the life of the entire 


Pisces* Child 


31 


tribe. Their happy "yip-yip” and "ki-i-i” rang out on 
the crisp air as they raced madly around the Trading 
Post. 

The delicious aroma of sizzling meats, broiling over 
beds of coal, soon filled the air. Old Indian bucks, young 
stalwart warriors, rotund squaws and graceful maidens 
stood by proudly, talking and gesticulating while a 
group of young braves demonstrated their prowess at 
feats of horsemanship, running, jumping and wrestling. 

A large bow of red ribbon fastened in Alma’s hair 
presented too tempting a mark for one mischieveously 
inclined youngster to resist. As she turned her head at 
her father’s approach, she felt a swift-passing current 
of air upon her neck and heard the insistent whine of 
an arrow as it passed through the looped ribbon. Not 
until her father told her of the incident did she know 
that she had served as a human mark for the youngster’s 
skill. 

With Mr. Coleman’s arrival, all Alma’s attention was 
centered upon him. He was in the midst of an earnest 
conversation with his companion. 

"These people are now standing at the parting of the 
ways,” he fervently declared. "Either the Federal 
power must enact and enforce stricter measures to pre¬ 
serve their seclusion, or they will have to surrender their 
segregate existence and accept their proper place in 
the nation of which this land is a part.” 

"How will this be accomplished?” Mr. Jerome asked. 

"By the Indians assuming new responsibilities and 
by their having a free intercourse with surrounding 
peoples,” Mr. Coleman replied. "As it is,” he added, 


32 


Pisces* Child 


"encouraged by immense fertile ranges and in a measure 
protected by the Indians themselves, wealthy cattle 
barons are now making a strenuous effort to bar all 
other types of citizens from this land. This country 
has wonderful possibilities and it must not remain an 
obstacle to America’s progress!” He uttered the last 
sentence forcefully, his eyes burning with hidden fire. 

He further explained that during his travels over the 
territory he had found that a majority of the Indians 
were determined to continue holding their lands in 
common and that they were bitterly opposed to the 
territory being opened for settlement by the white man. 

"I am sorry to say, not every squaw-man has shown 
the sense of honor that Fletcher has. Had they done so 
we would not have had all this trouble,” Coleman 
declared. "In the treaty made with the Senacas back in 
1790, you know Washington assured the Indians that 
in the future they could not be defrauded of their 
lands, also that the United States would be true to its 
promise. But now what do we see? Their race is rapidly 
being assimilated by the whites and the day of the full- 
blood is rapidly coming to an end!” 

From the words of the two men, Alma realized that 
the Indian country was a product of evolution and the 
red men were a very tragic race, misunderstood and 
abused. Then, as the conversation drifted to other 
subjects which she did not understand and in which 
she had no interest, she turned her attention elsewhere. 

An imperative summons came just then from a long 
flute in the hands of an Indian lad standing near the 


Pisces* Child 


33 


river’s edge. As Indians began to drift that way Alma, 
intent on their actions, followed in their wake. 

Chanting to the accompaniment of cowhide-covered 
drums, the women and children formed in one line; 
parallel to them the men and young braves formed in 
another line. Soon the "Stomp Dance” began. 

"Ho-wa, Ho-wa,” the deep voices of the braves rang 
out; "Hi-i, Hi-i,” echoed the shrill treble of the women. 

Some of the squaws wore terrapin-shell bangles below 
their knees and their rattle blended with the roll of 
drums and chanting voices. After a time Alma grew 
dizzy watching them, and she soon wearied of the 
monotony of their dances. Turning her attention to 
other things she caught sight of a little papoose who had 
been left alone under a tree some distance from the 
dancers. 

She adored babies and this little fellow was a cute 
tyke in spite of the horde of flies swarming over his 
defenseless body. Securely fastened in a lavishly beaded 
and fringed baby-carrier, he was engrossed with a piece 
of dried meat and apparently had time for only a very 
brief glance toward her. A string fastened to the meat 
was passed over an overhanging limb and the opposite 
end of the string was tied to the child’s big toe! 

Alma speculated as to the string’s purpose—then— 
the little fellow choked in trying to swallow the meat. 
With the child’s frantic kicking the string tightened 
and the meat was pulled back from his throat. 

Alma laughed heartily. Satisfied with the world and 
everything in it, the babe grasped the dirty morsel in 
one fat, grimy hand and popped it back into his mouth. 


34 


Pisces* Child 


Glancing at Alma as if to say, "What are you laughing 
at?” again he became absorbed in his own affairs. Alma 
leaned over, intending to pat his sleek little black head, 
but an ominous growl came from a huge dog lying 
near by. She paused, hand in the air, realizing that she 
was treading on dangerous ground in trying to force 
attention upon anyone guarded by him. She soon 
realized the dog was no longer paying attention to her. 
All his interest was centered on some object behind her. 
The hair on his back rose ominously, he growled fiercely, 
bared his fangs and began to stalk his prey. Slowly he 
advanced with stiff-legged steps, low rumbles came 
from his throat that were more terrifying to the girl 
than had been his first loud growl. 

With no thought of her own danger, Alma ap¬ 
proached the child, but in doing so, slipped on some 
moist clay. Falling, she completely covered the child 
with her own body. Before she was able to rise, she felt 
the rush of air as a huge object passed over them, then 
a voice imperatively crying, "Don’t move! Lie still!” 

The air was filled with screams, and the sounds of 
colliding bodies and a terrific threshing about indicated 
that ferocious animals were engaged in deadly combat. 
From her place on the ground Alma saw the dog and a 
vicious cat-like animal rolling over and over. The cat, 
spitting and snarling, tried to break the dog’s fierce hold 
upon its throat, but the dog hung on grimly. The cat 
fought a brave fight but was unequal to the dog’s savage 
onset and the battle was soon over. 

Indians came running, ready to assist the dog, but he 
needed no help. Then their attention turned to Alma, 


Pisces" Child 


35 


who was now scrambling to her feet. The babe was 
unconcerned—unaware that danger had threatened him 
—and still chewed contentedly on his piece of meat. 

The dog’s victory assured, there came from the 
Indians a great shout of rejoicing, a cry that reached 
to the hills and echoed back. Mr. Coleman came up on 
the run, having heard of the panther’s challenge and 
recognizing the danger it presaged. In a few brief 
words he was told what had happened. The body of the 
dead cat was silent witness to the fierceness of the 
encounter. The dog was lying near his charge, engrossed 
in licking his wounds. He seemed to consider Alma a 
friend. As she again drew near he gave her a brief 
glance accompanied by a wag of his stubby tail. 

The Indians were apparently elated more over the 
panther’s death than they were concerned over the con¬ 
dition of either Alma or the papoose. Gathering around 
the dead animal, they chattered excitedly, then their 
curiosity satisfied in that respect, they turned their 
attention to the girl, the men somewhat reserved but 
the woman jabbering hysterically. 

Ignorant of their customs and unable to understand 
their language, Alma did not grasp the fact that they 
were honoring her, that they looked upon her as some¬ 
thing exalted . . . the child’s savior! She had not known 
in reality that danger threatened him until that danger 
had been removed. 

One of her Grandfather Sherman’s favorite axioms 
came to her mind and its memory kept her silent. Her 
grandfather had often admonished, “When in doubt as 
to the meaning of incidents taking place around you, 


36 


Pisces* Child 


it’s a wise precaution to keep your mouth shut, your 
eyes and ears open!” 

The papoose, Sugar’s grandson, was Chief No-ka- 
wa-ta’s only son. It was the visiting youth, Peter 
Fletcher’s son, who had warned Alma to lie still. It 
seemed he had seen the panther’s stealthy approach and 
was rushing to the rescue when the girl threw herself, 
as he thought, across the babe, thus guarding him from 
the assault of the ferocious animal. Now, the danger 
removed, he stood serenely on the far side of the plot. 

No-ka-wa-ta was engaged in a solemn discourse with 
a group of dignified old Indians standing in a circle 
around him. Alma noticed that Indians, both the men 
and women, were of serious mien. They seemed to be 
giving their closest attention to the words of their chief, 
and Alma felt instinctively that she was the subject of 
their discussion. 

The Fletcher youth glanced quickly toward Alma. 
She caught his eye and smiled timidly. He frowned 
abruptly and turned away. She fancied he was resentful 
of something and wondered in what way she had 
offended him. 

No-ka-wa-ta seated himself in a deliberate, stately 
manner upon the ground, and the old warriors and 
headmen quickly formed a circle around him. He 
removed a pipe from a buckskin pauch at his belt and 
prepared to smoke. It was the most unique pipe Alma 
had ever seen, almost two feet long, made of red clay, 
its stem a slender hollow reed. The bowl was covered 
with intricate carving. Alma felt an intense desire to 
examine it closely. 


Pisces* Child 


37 


After No-ka-wa-ta had taken a single whiff from 
the pipe he handed it to his right-hand neighbor. Each 
Indian in turn passed it along until all had drawn from 
the smoking clay bowl of tobacco. When the pipe came 
back to the chief, he arose to his feet, carefully knocked 
the ashes from the bowl and replaced it in the buckskin 
holder. In complete silence he then walked to where 
the panther lay in a pool of its own blood. Solemnly he 
dipped the forefinger of his right hand in the blood, 
after which each brave in turn followed his example. All 
the Indians joined in a circle which completely encircled 
Alma and old Sugar, who had quietly taken a place by 
the girl’s side. The group moved slowly around them 
with short, hopping steps until No-ka-wa-ta directly 
faced Alma as though by signal. For a few breathless 
seconds quiet enveloped the entire assembly, then 
No-ka-wa-ta stepped forward with rapid strides. Alma 
barely repressed a scream as the Indian’s blood-stained 
finger lightly touched her on the forehead. Sugar’s voice 
at her side reassured her as he said: 

"Have no fear. Nothing will harm The Moonflower. 
Sugar is with her and he will watch over her!” 

After touching her forehead, No-ka-wa-ta stepped 
backward until he was again in the circle of Indians. 
He raised his right hand to his forehead and stood 
rigidly until each of his companions went through the 
same ceremony. 

At the conclusion of this barbaric but impressive 
observance another hush fell over the assembly. Sugar 
in a slow and dignified manner took his place by No-ka- 
wa-ta’s side. Raising his hand to the level of his forehead 


38 


Pisces’ Child 


while the Indians all bowed their heads reverently, he 
began to chant in a sing-song monotonous tone: 

"Pinki Uba ish binili ma! Chi hohohi fo hut holi- 
topashka. Chim a phliohi ka yokut hukbano. Chim a 
nuk fi hokut yakni a si ahli hokut uba ya ai ittilla- 
washke. Himak nittakana na ish pima kut nit tak mona 
pimpos ka yako ish pimo stike. Inla sheka it in lakola 
kut il is qushon pim she a ma ish pirn kushow ask ke. 
Ai amuk ya ish chik piono ka sh ke. Mi-cho ai ok puol 
ka ya ishila pia lilommichashke. Chim appollilichika 
isht ai ahillimicha sh obt, obt, opa manna kut chimi 
banot bilia pullashke . . . Amen!” 

Alma later learned this was the Lord’s Prayer in the 
Choctaw language. 

As old Sugar concluded the prayer the Indians began 
to encircle Alma. After forming the circle they clapped 
their hands rhythmically and bent their bodies forward 
until their hands almost touched the ground. Then the 
handclapping was repeated and a gutteral chant was 
sounded at the same time. 

Alma did not understand the import of this ritual, 
but she felt that it was of unusual import to the Indians. 
Her father later explained to her that she had been 
officially adopted into the tribe of which No-ka-wa-ta 
was chief. In recognition and acceptance of her as one 
of their own they had sealed their vows of allegiance 
by placing their blood-stained fingers on her forehead. 
This was one of their most sacred and binding oaths. 
She was now Princess "Moonflower,” adopted daughter 
of Sugar and sister of No-ka-wa-ta. 

Alma reluctantly went to bed that night, even though 


Pisces’ Child 


39 


she was tired after the many exciting incidents of the 
day. The Indians danced far into the night and as she 
fell asleep she heard the distant beat of the drums and 
the monotonous sound of chanting voices. In her dreams 
she was riding the Fletcher youth’s black horse and a 
horde of panthers were chasing her. Trying to scream 
in her fright, she found her throat was stopped up with 
a piece of dried meat! Awakening, all a-tremble, she 
found she had a corner of the pillow stuffed into her 
mouth and she had almost choked! 

With a chuckle of amusement and relief to find her 
"bogey” all a dream, she turned over in bed and went 
back to sleep. 


CHAPTER IV 


During the night a "norther” slipped down from the 
Rocky Mountains and the morning dawned dark and 
dreary. The heavens were overcast by heavy, low- 
hanging clouds that skurried southward across the sky, 
driven by a cold, biting wind. 

All the visitors with the exception of Dave Jerome 
had departed for their homes. He planned an extended 
visit in the Territory to gather first-hand information 
concerning the people whom he sincerely wanted to 
serve. 

No other reminiscent of the previous day’s celebration 
was left but a few skinny mongrel dogs sniffing in the 
ashes of dead fires seeking an overlooked bone. 

Within a few days after their arrival Alma and her 
mother had succeeded in becoming somewhat at home in 
their new surroundings and life soon became a matter 
of daily routine. 

The Indians had an annoying habit of loafing around 
their log house. Mrs. Coleman at first resented their 
irritating custom of standing with their faces plastered 
against a window pane, stolidly watching her as she 
moved about the little room. She soon remedied this by 
putting curtains over the windows but she could not 
avert other detestable traits. One of the most annoying 
of these was that of unceremoniously opening the door 
and stalking uninvited into the house at all hours of 
the day or night. 


40 


Pisces’ Child 


41 


Mr. Murdough’s brother greatly worried Alma. She 
could not overcome her initial repugnance toward him. 
His habit of surreptitiously avoiding the eyes of pas¬ 
sengers on the stage coach further convinced her of his 
guilty conscience. 

One morning she heard Chris say: 

"Uncle Jim’s gone off with Wes again!” 

The name "Wes” echoed in her memory, although 
she could not recall at the moment where she had heard 
it. Alma was, however, immensely relieved to hear that 
Jim had departed from the Trading Post. 

The days passed by without incident and a year rolled 
around. 

Continual agitation in Congress and in the public 
press compelled the government to take action toward 
the opening of at least a part of the Indian country for 
homestead settlement. The action of certain bands call¬ 
ing themselves "Boomers” and "Sooners” added fuel to 
the fire. 

As a direct result of Dave Jerome’s efforts, an exten¬ 
sive tract of two million acres of excellent agricul¬ 
tural land was purchased outright from the Indians for 
which the government paid approximately a million 
dollars. As part of this transaction, treaties were signed 
which allowed for the settlement of certain territory. 

Mr. Coleman accompanied Jerome during the nego¬ 
tiations and acted as interpreter. Many of them later 
claimed he betrayed their trust and delivered them 
into the hands of their enemy. The Indians refused to 
become reconciled to seeing their former lands in alien 
hands. 


42 


Pisces* Child 


Eastern papers referred to the movement as a contest 
between "Savageism” and the onward march to civil¬ 
ization. With the treaty ratification the first step toward 
the final opening of the lands was taken and other steps 
followed in rapid succession. 

When Benjamin Harrison was elected President of 
the United States he was by pre-election promises bound 
to yield to public clamor and trust to the settlers’ judg¬ 
ment in the regulation of their own affairs until Con¬ 
gress might come to their aid. 

Johnnie Coleman was in demand as government 
interpreter and was often away from the Trading Post. 
Mrs. Coleman, with Alma as her assistant, took over the 
responsibilities at the Post. They were in time accepted 
as government representatives here and the Indians in 
many instances refused to transact business with any¬ 
one else. 

Indian squaws were fond of yellow, red and bright 
pink cloth, and these colors predominated on the shelves 
at the Trading Post. Alma held a particular distaste for 
both yellow and red, leaving pink her only choice in the 
matter of dress. 

Alma was a constant source of wonder to the elder 
Murdoughs. Unlike Clara, their daughter, she was metic¬ 
ulous in her daily habits, and was studious and intelli¬ 
gent. This was easily explained when one took into 
consideration that she had always associated with grown 
people. She acquired the perspective of a mature person 
and conducted herself accordingly. Alma gave slight 
thought to her personal appearance. Instinct prompted 


Pisces’ Child 


43 


her to keep herself neat and clean, and she took pride 
in the many dainty dresses her mother made for her. 

Another of the Murdoughs’ wonders was why Alma 
preferred the society of Indians to that of their son 
and daughter. They failed to realize that Alma loved 
and understood the Indians and sympathized with them. 
She felt that they were seldom treated as they deserved. 
In addition, Alma cared only slightly for Clara, the 
daughter, and she thoroughly disliked Chris, the son. 
For him she felt an intense revulsion. This feeling was 
due to the fact that he was a young ruffian, forever into 
devilment but sufficiently clever to where he made it 
appear he was innocent of the many ill deeds which 
originated in his warped intellect. 

Antagonism bordering almost upon a feud existed 
between Sugar and Chris Murdough. The young 
scoundrel let no opening pass that offered an oppor- 
tunty of playing an annoying prank upon the peaceful 
old Indian. Since Alma espoused the venerable Indian’s 
cause, the youth struck also at her through his buf¬ 
foonery. 

Sugar appreciated Alma’s fidelity and showed his 
appreciation in many ways. The allegiance he had always 
given her father was now increased in measure and 
bestowed upon Alma. He accompanied her whenever 
possible from morning until night. 

Mrs. Coleman implicitly trusted the old Indian. She 
felt a sense of security when Alma was out of her sight, 
knowing that Sugar was a dependable bodyguard. 

One afternoon early in December Alma and Sugar 
were gathering pecans some distance from the Trading 


44 


Pisces* Child 


Post. They were interested in their quest and did not 
notice the sky becoming slowly overcast. As though the 
sun were suddenly eclipsed a shadow seemed to engulf 
them. An acrid odor assailed their nostrils and in an 
instant they were aware of their horrible predicament. 

The prairie was afire! They were almost instantly 
surrounded by the onrushing conflagration. Dry grass, 
higher in places than a man’s head, was burning like 
tinder. The increasing wind was sweeping the flames 
toward them like the roll of an angry ocean wave. 

A prairie fire was a dread catastrophe and the Indians 
took every precaution to prevent one. The conflagration 
destroyed their homes and their belongings, and also 
consumed their winter’s forage. 

In confirmation of their quickly formed suspicions 
that Chris was in some manner implicated in this dis¬ 
aster, they saw him furtively running over the ridge 
that lay between them and the Trading Post. Directly 
back of him a trail of small fires was rapidly spreading, 
cutting them off from safety in that direction. They 
could not cross the stream to the opposite bank, which 
supported a lush growth of grass, for it had become 
a raging, fiery inferno! 

Sugar did not hesitate. He quickly explained how 
Alma should draw her skirts over her head and breathe 
only through her nostrils. He grasped her hand and 
together they plunged directly into the advancing wall 
of flame. It was almost impossible to breathe. The air 
was like the breath of a fiery furnace and the dense 
smoke stiffled her. Sugar would not, however, allow her 
to hesitate an instant. He guided her directly through 


Pisces 5 Child 


45 


the wall of flames. The grass was hissing and cracking 
all around her. She endeavored to break loose from his 
hold, as instinct compelled her to turn and flee in the 
opposite direction, but Sugar held her firmly. He held 
tightly to her hand and pushed her steadily and relent¬ 
lessly. After what seemed hours her strength failed and 
she could go no farther. Her knees buckled under her 
and the fire’s scorching breath seared her throat. All 
power of movement became utterly impossible, but as 
she fell Sugar caught her. 

He stripped off his blanket and wrapped it around 
her tightly with one quick movement. He lifted her 
bodily in his arms and once more plunged through the 
wall of fire. At last! Safety! The raging fire-cloud was 
passed and underneath their feet was bare, smouldering 
earth, where only occasional clumps of grass continued 
to burn. Gently he set her onto her feet, steadying her 
until she was able to stand. 

With the exception of intensely irritated eyes and 
a burning throat, Alma felt no ill effects from her 
terrifying experience. Sugar would not admit he was 
suffering, but his face was pale and drawn; his lips were 
ashen, and she noticed that he kept them tightly com¬ 
pressed. Realizing he was suffering and was tired, she 
insisted they stop and rest, but he insisted on hastening 
home. In spite of his indomitable will his steps became 
more labored and beads of perspiration stood on his 
forehead. He was soon unable to stand upright and in 
complete exhaustion he was compelled to sit wearily 
on the ground. He rested his head against a large stone 


46 


Pisces’ Child 


and wearily closed his eyes, although between gasps for 
breath he insisted he was all right. 

Alma was badly frightened. She suddenly realized 
how serious their recent predicament had been. She had 
been so quickly carried to safety that she had not here¬ 
tofore fully appreciated their danger. Now that the old 
Indian had collapsed, the full import of their recent 
danger was brought home to her. As she looked closely 
at him she was deeply impressed by the peculiarly wan 
expression on his face. He seemed to sense her anxiety, 
for he opened his eyes and attempted to smile. She felt 
a rush of sympathy for him and her eyes filled with tears. 

Strength came back to Sugar slowly and at last he 
began to talk. His first concern was over the reaction 
that might come should other Indians learn the boy, 
Chris, has fired the prairie. He feared that they would 
rise up en masse and wreak their vengeance, not alone 
upon Chris, but on other whites as well. He solemnly 
impressed upon Alma the necessity of their remaining 
silent. 

At first, she refused to agree to such silence. She 
deemed it justice that everyone should know of Chris’ 
cowardly act, but she soon saw the wisdom in Sugar’s 
counsel. 

Sugar’s voice changed from entreaty to a low mono¬ 
tone as he told her how he felt that the Great Spirit had 
brought her to the Trading Post that she might befriend 
the Indians; how so long as she remained true to the 
trust they put in her, the Great Spirit would watch over 
her, stressing the importance of her not betraying that 
trust. 


Pisces* Child 


47 


"Great responsibilities will fall to the Moonflower,” 
he prophetically declared: "The boy who looks two 
ways,” (his name for Chris) has treachery in his heart 
and it is written in the sands that he will try to do the 
Redmen much harm. Moonflower must stand between 
him and them . . . she must protect her people. Remem¬ 
ber . . . Sugar has spoken!” 

Bewildered but greatly concerned over his helpless 
condition, Alma agreed to do everything he asked and 
that seemed to satisfy him. "We will now go to my 
Heap Big Chief,” he said. 

But when he tried to rise, he was unable to do so. 
Settling back he whispered: ". . . Go . . . Sugar’s work is 
finished ... he will now rest!” He turned to her, a 
child-like expression of bewilderment and simplicity 
on his face, adding, ". . . Sugar will wait here for his 
Heap Big Chief to come.” 

"Sugar,” she whispered, leaning over him anxiously, 
"what is it? What can I do for you?” 

"Nothing,” he assured her, smiling into her face. 
"It is well . . . the days are growing short and cold and 
the nights are long and dark; so dark that Sugar cannot 
see his way. The earth is now bleak and bare, but soon 
the grass will grow and the people will be glad! Moon- 
flower must not let her heart be heavy for it is well! Go 
. . . Moonflower . . . carry this talk to my people.” 

Lifting his head with a last commandering of 
strength, he went on in slow, halting, painful words; 
his voice scarce above a whisper: 

"Tell Sugar’s children that he said for them to give 
up the ways of their fathers and to live as the Great 


48 


Pisces* Child 


White Father says. Be at peace with each other ... no 
steal ... no tell lies ... no burn each other’s teepees. 
Tell them that no longer is the land of their fathers left 
to them. It is written in the sands that the paleface will 
walk over the bones of the Redmen and there are no 
woods left, no marshes, no prairies that he has for 
himself. Beyond the mountains is the horizon and other 
lands but the paleface has also taken them and there 
is no beast of the chase left for them. The Indian must 
dig in the earth or starve! Go . . . Moonflower . . . tell 
my people that Sugar has spoken . . . that he bids them 
to sell the lands the Great White Father gave us so 
many, many moons ago ... si Hoka! Sugar is done!” 

His head dropped, his voice changed back to one of 
humble entreaty ". . . Sugar bows his head for his Great 
Spirit has spoken ... It is well! Go now, O Moon- 
flower ... go get my Heap Big Chief. Tell him that 
Sugar’s blood has turned to water and that he has 
become a squaw!” 

She hesitated ... his words were so mysterious and 
he spoke so solemnly. 

"Moonflower must hasten,” he reminded her. 

Silently she turned to obey his command. 

"Great Spirit help me . . . come near to my side! It 
is dark ... I cannot see my way! It is cold . . . Sugar 
is far from his teepee! Hear . , . O hear me, Great 
Spirit . . . hear my cry . . .” she heard him chanting, 
as she hastened away. 

That Sugar and Alma were on the river bank was 
common knowledge at the Trading Post and when she 


Pisces’ Child 


49 


appeared alone on top of the hill, Mr. Coleman was 
standing gazing anxiously in that direction. 

He came to meet her, walking rapidly and with her 
telling him of Sugar’s collapse, turned to go back with 
her . . . they were too late, however! Alone, Sugar had 
gone on to his Happy Hunting Ground. His work had 
indeed been finished. 

Sitting in the same position as he had been in when 
Alma left, a peaceful smile on his wrinkled old face, 
his head turned to the setting sun, now hanging as 
a golden ball, low in the western sky, they found him. 
The sun of his life had settled below the horizon and 
he was at peace. 

They marveled greatly that he had been able to travel 
so far ... he had been terribly burned! 

A bitter resentment welled up in Alma’s heart as she 
stood, tears in her eyes, before her departed comrade. 
She was positive that Chris was responsible for his 
death; that he was as guilty as though he had put 
a bullet through the old fellow’s heart! But. . . memory 
of her vow kept her silent. 

Grimly she made another vow ... a secret, silent one: 

"Some day, that despicable rat will pay!” 

Sugar was given an elaborate funeral. All the pomp 
and ceremony accorded a venerable chief was extended. 
Drums beat continually, sending out to distant villages 
the message, telling of his depature. Members of his 
own tribe gathered at the lodge wherein sat his body 
in silent, dignified state and the entire night was spent 
in mourning. 

Warriors and braves danced with slow, steady steps 


50 


Pisces* Child 


around a small fire while the squaws sat on the ground 
beating their breasts, rocking their bodies back and 
forth and wailing in mournful tones. 

There was no wind. A heavy fog-like mist rolled 
up from the river bottoms and hung as a pall over the 
land. The fires cast weird shadows upon the ground and 
the awe-inspiring voices echoed and re-echoed on the 
still night air. 

The occasional doleful howl coming from a dog as 
he crouched beside his now silent master’s side, presaged 
his fate. 

At daybreak, the dancing became more frenzied, the 
wailing louder. Other Indians, late arrivals, joined in 
the demonstration and as one exhausted member 
dropped out of the circling ring, another took his place, 
. . . the dancing going on throughout the day. 

No-ka-wa-ta brought his father’s favorite horse to 
the lodge and Sugar’s body was seated thereon ... his 
gun resting across his knees. With the ever faithful 
dog close behind, the pilgrimage began. Followed by 
a line of wailing women and stern-faced silent men, 
No-ka-wa-ta led the horse down a trail through the 
valley, across the river, up a great hill, to their tribal 
burying ground. 

Alma and her father walked close by No-ka-wa-ta’s 
side. 

With his head turned towards the eastern sky, Sugar’s 
body was placed in a shallow pit. Here he was to sit, 
waiting for the moon’s appearance, at which time his 
spirit would come forth. That wandering animals 
would not disturb him during this period of waiting, 


Pisces* Child 


51 


logs were piled around and over the spot, care being 
taken that cracks were left for the spirit to slip through. 
His gun, knife and other prized possessions, were 
placed conveniently near in readiness for his spirit to 
claim. That the Great Spirit would see that he had been 
well provided for, food and drink were also placed 
near by. 

Then just as the sun dropped below the horizon, No- 
ka-wa-ta brought the favorite horse and faithful dog 
to the pit’s side and shot them, in order that their spirits 
would be there waiting that their master would not be 
deprived of their use in the Happy Hunting Ground. 

Small fires were started around the spot to frighten 
away the possible evil spirits lingering near waiting to 
capture the new spirit as it issued forth from its former 
abode . . . then the Indians departed, leaving Sugar 
alone to await his spirit’s flitting to the Elysium of 
his Soul. 


CHAPTER V 


Oklahoma . . . the name derived from a Choctaw 
Indian term, meaning home of the Red Man, is the 
result of forces and influences that have been in effect 
and operative for more than a century. 

From one phase of the opening of that section to 
settlement, a new word for the English language was 
coined. Its slangy significance had a vogue throughout 
the country for years. President Ben Harrison, in his 
proclamation for the opening of unassigned lands in the 
Indian Territory to homestead settlement, had a statu¬ 
tory provision inserted against "any person entering 
upon or occupying said lands before the date of open¬ 
ing,” which was originally Saturday, April 20, 1889, . . . 
but later changed to read Monday, April 22, 1889. 

To anticipate the rush and to make sure the claims 
they had selected during previous residence or while 
passing through the country, was a temptation that 
hundreds could not resist. They resorted to every 
evasion, even to armed resistance in circumventing the 
guards and establishing their locations, before the day 
set for the entry. 

Hence there arose the term "Sooners.” In referring to 
that class, the term "Sooner” was generally one of 
reproach, but in its loosely applied significance, that 
was far from its original meaning. Sooners as a rule, 
were the vanguard of homesteaders who felt that they 
had as much of a right to the land as the cattlemen had. 

52 


Pisces* Child 


53 


During the Civil War, the Territory was neutral 
ground and runaway slaves had also sought refuge 
among the Indians, to remain and in many cases inter¬ 
marry with their benefactors. The offspring of this 
conglomeration of society was neither white, black nor 
red, but a combination of all three; endowed with all 
their traits of moral depravity and disrespect for or 
recognition of any form of government. 

Some of these men were desperate characters; men 
who had served terms in prison and men who were 
ostracized from neighboring states. They were bound 
together for the purpose of mutual protection and 
common interests. 

Alma was a true daughter of nature and she loved 
the great out-doors. Nothing so filled her heart with 
content as to wander alone under sheltering trees along 
the river, listening to the voices of wild life, or to sit 
quietly watching shadows settle over the land at 
eventide. 

The song of a bird enraptured her and her heart 
would ache in his song’s appreciation. The beauty of 
a sunset ofttimes made her weep. 

By no stretch of imagination could she be called 
a beauty herself . . . yet, there was an elusive something 
about her that made everyone turn for a second more 
interested glance with their first meeting. 

Her eyes were her most attractive feature . . . deep, 
clear, twin pools, shadowed by long lashes that made 
them appear darker than they were. They were at times 
blue ... at other times grey and in their depths a cryptic 
expression lurked that was subject to as sudden a change 


54 


Pisces* Child 


as was her temperamental mood. Many people thought 
her queer, but such was not the case. She was an un¬ 
usually serious-minded, intelligent girl, a deep student, 
profound thinker and fond of going into any subject 
in which she was interested, deeply. But . . . she wasted 
no time on matters in which she was not interested. 

Her one vanity was her hair. With patience and skill 
she would roll her bangs in kid-curlers each night, 
trying to coax them into a semblance of the natural 
wave she so greatly admired and lack of which in her 
own case, was to her a constant disappointment. 

One of her chief annoyances with Clara was her 
abundance of flaxen curls. 

Alma’s mirror told her, however, that her own hair 
was beautiful, even though it was without curl. It had 
darkened somewhat with her approach to womanhood. 
Sometimes she fancied that the Master Painter had run 
out of colors in His paint shop when she was being 
created and had been forced to finish her up with 
a combination of colors running from light brown to 
bronze, with the bronze predominating. 

Her nose was tip-tilted and her features were olive- 
tinted from much out-door air. 

When excited or in need of forceful emphasis by 
means of which to express herself, she would unconsci¬ 
ously resort to the use of her hands, which were large, 
long-fingered, but artistically formed. 

Many Indians not familiar with her name of Moon- 
flower, alluded to her as “The Girl Who Talks with 
Her Hands!” 

She was tall, equalling her father in height, and well- 


Pisces 5 Child 


55 


developed. One not knowing her age was fourteen, 
would have guessed her as "about eighteen.” 

She was happy and contented with life at the Trading 
Post. Then, much to her displeasure, Jim Murdough 
came back. 

Grapevine gossip was that he had come in conflict 
with United States marshals and that he was again 
hiding out. The rumors were rather vague, however, 
no one seeming to be positive. 

Spring, 1889, will long be remembered as an excep¬ 
tionally early season. The prairies were beginning to 
show a carpet of green as early as February when the 
vanguard of homesteaders drifted to the Trading Post, 
which was a strategic point on the border. 

During the time that elapsed between the signing 
of the proclamation and the opening date, thousands 
of people gathered there, ready to rush in and take 
possession. Each day saw the arrival of reinforcements, 
coming from every section of the universe. 

With this assemblage along the river, Alma was 
forced to avoid her former haunts. 

Gossip among the Indian maidens and coming to 
Alma’s ears was that a dark-eyed, dark-skinned young 
man, spent considerable time riding along the border, 
seated on a magnificent black stallion and that he kept 
pretty much to himself. No one seemed to know who 
he was, from whence he had come, or what his inten¬ 
tions were. 

Other gossip was that each day at the same time, he 
would ride to the crest of "See-heap-long-ways,” the 
Indian name of the lone butte on whose crest stood 


56 


Pisces’ Child 


a gnarled old live-oak, and that he would stand there 
gazing toward the distant hills for a time before silently 
riding away ... to no one knew where. 

This tree had been one of Alma’s favorite retreats. It 
was immense ... its twisted, bent bole mute evidence 
that it had bravely stood for many years, buffeting 
the winds. 

Her first morning at the Trading Post, she had 
noticed this tree and speculated upon its lone grandeur. 
Later on, she began going there and for hours at a time 
would sit in the crook of a gigantic limb, reading or 
perhaps dreaming wonderful dreams. 

With visionary eyes she would gaze toward the distant 
horizon and visualize the future. Putting together in 
imaginary pictures the scraps of conversation overheard 
around the Trading Post, she painted great cities teem¬ 
ing with life; visualized farm homes dotting the prairies 
and immense fields of grain where now the native grass 
billowed and waved. 

On the distant hillside, she featured brick-kilns and 
pottery plants like those near Indianapolis. She had 
heard her mother declare that the clay was very similar. 

She also dreamed of the time when she would go out 
into the world and take a hand in its affairs. She was 
determined in her own mind that she was going to play 
some important part in the great drama now in the 
making, but as yet, was undecided just what it would be. 

She read continually. Her favorite works were those 
of biography. The recorded life and achievements of 
famous people fascinated her. Secretly, she vowed to 
follow as nearly as was possible, in their footsteps. 


Pisces’ Child 


57 


She thought maybe she would write wonderful books 
herself . . . Books that would serve others as an inspira¬ 
tion. Or it might be that she would paint beautiful 
pictures to fill the heart of their beholder with pleasure. 
Sometimes when listening to some bird’s sudden burst 
of rapture, she would visualize herself as singing before 
an enthralled audience or holding them spell-bound by 
her masterful performance on some musical instrument. 

At no time did she ever feature herself as a spectator 
of this great drama. She was always an actor and 
proudly, if not prominently, by her side there stood 
a handsome, adoring, dark-eyed, Prince-Alberted hus¬ 
band! At least six stalwart, handsome children stood 
in this picture, too . . . slightly in the background, 
however. 

Upon hearing the gossip concerning the rider of the 
black horse, the girl’s romantic interest was aroused. 
Knowing that her parents would forbid her so much 
as leaving the house had they the slightest intimation 
of her intentions, she conceived the idea of hiding 
herself within the depths of the tree in order that she 
might closely observe the mysterious man without 
his knowledge. 

When Laughing-water came home from Peter 
Fletcher’s school, she and Alma became close friends 
and were much together. One evening late, she came 
to the Trading Post and upon Mrs. Coleman’s invita¬ 
tion, remained to spend the night with Alma. 

Next day, with Laughing-water’s getting ready to go 
to her own home, Alma announced that she was going 
part of the way with her. The two girls separated at the 


58 


Pisces’ Child 


base of Point Lookout, Alma’s name for the butte. One 
went toward her Indian village home, the other climbed 
to the top of the hill. 

The girl on the hilltop had barely settled herself in 
the crook high up in the live-oak before she saw a horse¬ 
man coming up the hill. He was riding leisurely, pausing 
at frequent intervals, to gaze over the surrounding 
country. 

Her heart beat rapidly as she saw and recognized the 
black horse she had one time seen Peter Fletcher’s son 
ride. 

Arriving at the tree, the man dismounted and turned 
attentive eyes toward the hills across the river. The 
horse nibbled on some tender grass shoots. 

Muttering words too low for her to distinguish their 
meaning, the man took from his saddle pocket a long 
folding telescope and after adjusting it to his satisfac¬ 
tion, focused it toward the hills. 

She almost held her breath, fearing he would dis¬ 
cover her, but he gave no intimation of knowing she 
was there. 

A little squirrel whose nest was in a hollow limb 
of the tree, peeped out at the girl, scolding timidly, 
then growing more bold, came out and loudly expressed 
his sentiments. 

The man picked up a small stone and carelessly 
tossed it up into the tree, barely missing her. She almost 
lost her hold on the limb, but, reassured by his attitude 
that he had not seen her, she regained her confidence. 

Peeping cautiously through the leaves, she tried to 


Pisces’ Child 


59 


see his face but the broad-brimmed hat he wore pre¬ 
vented her doing so. 

He grew restless, kept consulting his watch and 
taking peeps through the telescope as shadows length¬ 
ened and the sun approached the western sky-line. 

She grew so cramped and tired from sitting on the 
limb, she could hardly retain her balance. She felt she 
could not make her presence known now, however, she 
had waited too long. 

"Curiosity, you know, has been the death of many 
a cat,” had been one of her Aunt Bet’s favorite 
expressions. 

Now, even with her uncomfortable and embarrassing 
position, she was forced to smile as she recalled how 
Uncle Jim had slapped his thighs and haw-hawed one 
day when she had innocently asked: 

"But Aunt Bet, what did the cat want to know?” 

"What have you to say to that?” Uncle Jim had 
demanded . . . adding, "I’ll bet that if that cat was 
a female, she didn’t die till she found out!” 

She wondered now if her curiosity was going to be 
the death of her. 

Just when she felt she could endure her dilemma no 
longer, the man folded up his telescope, put it back in 
the saddle-pocket and made preparations to leave. 

"At last,” she breathed in relief, "he’s going!” 

But he did not immediately go. In a soft, drawling 
voice he began: 

"And mayhaps it is an angel, for she sits and gazes 
at me, with those deep and tender eyes, like the stars, 


60 


Pisces* Child 


so still and saint-like, looking downward from the 
skies!” 

"Longfellow,” she thought, recognizing her favorite 
poet . . . she leaned over the better to hear. Then his 
voice changed to one of slight amusement: 

"But I’ve always thought that angels wore trailing 
robes of white! Methinks it is a flower-sprigged pink 
calico I now see . . . and surely those eyes, holding the 
hope of heaven in their depths, yet of the earth must be 
possessed!” 

She could not keep from giggling. The moment 
was so filled with romance! 

"Make haste, O stranger,” she quoted, "for ere the 
evening lamps are lighted, and like phantoms grim and 
tall, shadows from the fitful fire-light, dance upon the 
parlor wall, this angel, if so it be, must return to her 
earthly abode or great will be her suffering, methinks!” 

"So may it ever be!” he agreed, waving his hand 
airily. "The green trees whispered low and mild, it was 
a sound of joy; they ever whispered, mild and low, 
come be once more a child.” 

Then without another word, he mounted his horse 
and rapidly rode away. 

Alma sat in the tree watching him until he dis¬ 
appeared among the trees bordering the river. Then 
realizing the lateness of the hour, she slipped down the 
tree trunk and hastened home. 

She found the Trading Post in a turmoil. In some 
manner, Indians had secured a supply of liquor and 
several were now gloriously drunk, creating no end 
of disturbance. 


Pisces" Child 


61 


In addition to the commotion they were causing, 
No-ka-wa-ta had come to the government post greatly 
worried over Laughing-water’s failure to arrive home 
. . . she had not been seen since she and Alma separated 
at the base of Point Lookout, it seemed. 

Search for the missing girl was immediately started. 
All night and up to noon of the next day organized 
groups sought her . . . then in a thicket far removed 
from the trail she was supposed to be following, her 
body was found almost covered with leaves and brush. 

Chris Murdough came forward with the information 
that while hunting the day before, he had seen a man 
riding a black horse going toward the thicket! 

As one person all the campers accused the mysterious 
stranger of Laughing-water’s murder! His was the only 
black horse known to have been in the vicinity. 

Jim Murdough was the most insistent of all the 
accusers. It was he that aroused the campers to almost 
a frenzy . . . advising them to take matters into their 
own hands and mob the rider of the black horse. 

Soldiers came, keenly alert to the sinister under¬ 
current; they took command of the reservation. The 
rider of the black horse disappeared. 

Alma was profoundly affected by the tragic death of 
her friend. For a time she did not know that the man 
who had so excited her girlish fancy was under sus¬ 
picion, then when she heard the gruesome details, she 
became very indignant. She knew for a certainty that 
he could not have been the man Chris claimed to have 


seen. 


62 


Pisces’ Child 


When she told her father the entire story, he advised 
their immediately going to No-ka-wa-ta. 

The Indians worried him. He likened them unto 
a volcano . . . outwardly calm, peaceful . . . quiet to all 
outside appearance but underneath the surface a seeth¬ 
ing, boiling mass of death-dealing destruction, no way 
of estimating the exact minute it would burst out in 
a demoniacal wave that would sweep the land, leaving 
nothing but desolation in its wake. 

In company with other members of his clan, No-ka- 
wa-ta in stony-eyed, stern silence heard their story. 
They asked no questions, made no comments, until Alma 
ceased talking, then No-ka-wa-ta briefly declared: 

"It is well that Moonflower has spoken! The Great 
Spirit has also spoken to No-ka-wa-ta. He knows the 
name of the dog that defiled the Princess Laughing- 
water! That dog will die! So . . . No-ka-wa-ta has 
spoken! si Hoka!” 

Mr. Coleman tried to reason with them, fearing for 
the young man’s life, but to all his arguments they 
answered: 

"The Great Spirit has spoken! The dog must die!” 

No one except those responsible for the act ever 
knew how they accomplished their objective, they 
moved so quietly and so swift, but some time during 
the night, Jim Murdough was taken from his bed in the 
Missionary’s house . . . the next day his body was found 
on the exact spot where his last crime had been 
committed. 

And then it became known that Jim Murdough was 
a member of a notorious outlaw band whose head was 


Pisces* Child 


63 


a mysterious dark-eyed ruthless woman. His movements 
were being watched by a young United States Marshal 
investigating rum-running to the Indians. It was also 
discovered that Murdough and Laughing-water had 
often been seen together in Fletcher’s capitol city while 
she was there attending school, but no motive was 
made known as to his making way with her for they 
had seemed to be on the best of terms. 


CHAPTER VI 


With each day’s passing, variety and numbers were 
added to the waiting throngs assembled along the 
border. 

A continuous line of prairie schooners wended its 
way to some one of the camps that had been established 
along the river. Watching them, Alma made a resolu¬ 
tion that some day, she was going to tour the world 
in a covered wagon! 

Only those who participated in the event or actually 
saw the race made, will ever appreciate that historical 
contest for homesteads. A fight in which thousands 
joined and the entire nation, the world almost, looked 
on, thrilled at the unique spectacle. 

Every type of conveyance was there. Fashionable 
carriages, driven by dignified coachmen in which styl¬ 
ishly dressed ladies rode, in the race for no other motive 
than that of its novelty. Side by side with them stood 
the traditional boomer wagon drawn by yoked oxen, 
guided by grim-faced men and women with their entire 
earthly belongings. For these parties the race for home¬ 
steads was no matter of amusement or to satisfy their 
lust for excitement. It was one of extreme seriousness. 
It was these serious-minded men and women who later 
on shaped the destiny of a great commonwealth. 

Men from every walk of life were there, young and 
old, rich and poor. Riding in smart, high-seated traps, 
pulled by proud-stepping highly-bred horses, in buck- 
64 


Pisces* Child 


65 


boards, on bicycles, horseback and even on foot, crowd¬ 
ing, pushing, sometimes fighting in their mad desire 
to get a first line position. 

There were no social barriers in the line drawn up 
along the border in April, 1889. Negroes and whites, 
Jews and Gentiles stood side by side. 

Money played a prominent part in the final setting 
of this great drama. Ofttimes a first line holder was 
bought off and dropped back to a less desirable position. 

Soldiers patrolled the border constantly in order to 
hold back some too eager one’s premature start. 

Underneath all the seething, crowding multitude’s 
badinage, ran an undercurrent of deadly seriousness. 

The morning of the 22 nd was dazzling with an 
intense heat. It was a day as often slips away in advance 
of mid-summer and secretes itself in the very heart of 
blithesome spring. 

Cerulean skies were fathomless with mystic beauty; 
soft zephyrs redolent with the incense of Passion flower 
and Wild Rose, floated lazily in the air. 

Slightly in the background of this massed formation 
of humanity, mounted on the back of a superb animal, 
was a cavalry officer. He held an open watch in his 
hand, his eye intently following its slowly moving hand 
as it ticked off the seconds that must elapse before the 
time was exactly twelve o’clock. 

Near by, bugle in hand, stood another cavalryman; 
he awaited his superior officer’s command. 

One minute before twelve, time was called in order 
to give the mob time to prepare for the signal soon 
to follow. In a wave of sound that rolled as distant 


66 


Pisces’ Child 


thunder, rose a sigh of relief, coming from thousands 
of throats. It ended immediately in a death-like silence 
as the people strained their every nerve in that last one 
minute of waiting. 

Then welling out, spreading over the land and enfold¬ 
ing them, on the stillness of the air, there came the 
silvery sound of a bugle! 

From her place of observation on Point Lookout, 
Alma heard that sound and with its clear call, a stab of 
pain struck her heart. She realized that it inaugurated 
a new era in Territorial History . . . that the Redman’s 
regime had now forever passed and another of Old 
Sugar’s prophesies was in its fulfillment. 

Following the bugle’s clarion call there came the roar 
as of a cannon, guns being so closely fired together as 
to seem one report, relaying that signal down the miles 
of line. 

For an instant, there was an intense silence while the 
mob hesitated, marshaling its strength for the rush. 
Then with a roar like an army released and a roll of 
thundering hoofs that shook the earth for miles in every 
direction, they were off! 

Never before and never to be repeated in the history 
of man, will there be another such race. 

As in all such scenes, both tragedy and comedy held 
the stage. From the trumpet blast at noon, till the sun 
set in a haze of red dust and stars peeped out on tented 
fields, humanity played its dramatic part. 

Riders of swift horses gave the dust to those in 
clumsy wagons. One pathetic incident came to Alma’s 
attention: 


Pisces* Child 


67 


A decrepit wagon, drawn by two horses so old and 
feeble that they were unable to even start with their 
more formidable rivals, trailed along in their wake. On 
the wagon’s tattered canvas cover was crudely but 
boldly printed: 

"Chintz-bugged in Illnoys, sicloned in Nebrasky, 
white-capped in Injianny, bald-knobbed in Missoury, 
prohibbitted in Kansas, Oklahomy or bust! That’s me 
by Jiggers: Jed Keen, his wife and kid!” 

A hopeless looking, sun-bonneted woman and a tow¬ 
headed youngster were peering eagerly from beneath the 
canvas cover. 

The number that entered the territory that day, can 
never be accurately known, but when the sun made its 
appearance on April 23, Oklahoma Proper was as 
densely populated as many states were after an existence 
of years. 

Almost in the twinkling of an eye, thousands upon 
thousands of acres were transformed from a boundless 
prairie into a land of homes. Cities sprang up over night 
and a new form of government was inaugurated where 
but the day before wild life roamed unmolested and the 
Indian reigned supreme. 

Title was acquired by the United States Government 
to the unoccupied portion of the Cherokee Strip for 
individual allotments, to members of the small tribes 
who had not yet received tribal allotments and to 
several individuals who had been overlooked in previous 
allotments. 

When the tribal roll was made up, it was discovered 
that the Princess Moonflower had not been given an 


68 


Pisces* Child 


allotment. She was then assigned a tract of land on the 
banks of the old New-sew-ket-onga (Cimarron) River. 
Mr. Coleman made a brief inspection of the land and 
told her to forget it. Deep in sand it rose directly from 
the river in hills of rocky formation upon which 
nothing but scrub-oak and black-jacks could grow. 
One’s most highly inflated and rose-colored imagina¬ 
tion could never picture it as of any value. 

With the opening to settlement of their former 
lands, the Indians were transferred to their new allot¬ 
ments. There being no longer a need for the Trading 
Post on the river, Mr. Coleman found himself without 
a job. 

A place in the United States Land Office was offered 
him, which he accepted. The family moved to the new 
capitol city of Oklahoma Territory soon thereafter and 
life for them fell into new channels. 

Mrs. Coleman, herself a University of Indiana grad¬ 
uate, had carefully carried on Alma’s education during 
their sojourn at the Trading Post and the girl had no 
trouble fitting herself into the new life. She regretted 
leaving her Indian friends, but with new association, 
new friendships formed and a completely changed 
environment, she gradually put all thoughts of the 
former life aside. 

In 1892, Ben Harrison was defeated for re-election 
as President of the United States. Immediately following 
the change of administration, there came a national 
financial depression. The business world was demoral¬ 
ized and in a state of agitation . . . numerous banks 
closed their doors. 


Pisces’ Child 


69 


The day that Alma was seventeen was ushered in by 
a glorious morning. She sang happily as she helped her 
mother with the household tasks. But ... it also came to 
be the turning point in her life. 

In the morning mail came a letter to Mrs. Coleman 
with news that Mr. Sherman, her father, had lost all 
his money with a bank failure in Indianapolis. With 
noon, Mr. Coleman came home with the news that he 
had lost his job! 

Mr. Coleman was hot-headed and radical in his 
political views and when he tried to get other work, 
he found closed doors. 

Then there came a period of uncertainty for the 
Colemans. Regardless of the fact that Mrs. Coleman 
was perhaps one of the best educated women in the 
territory, when she applied for a place in the schools, 
she was given no consideration. Mr. Coleman picked 
up an odd job now and then, Mrs. Coleman baked 
bread, pies and cake for the market, took in sewing, 
kept a few boarders, and by their combined efforts, 
managed to keep Alma in school and themselves fairly 
comfortable. 

One day, Dr. Kibbie, one of their noon-time boarders, 
happened to notice the silver bowl as it sat on a shelf 
in the parlor. He admired it immensely and was greatly 
interested in the crest engraved upon its side. He men¬ 
tioned that he’d like to have it . . . being interested in 
antiques ... if they ever wanted to sell it, said he would 
appreciate a first opportunity to purchase. That eve¬ 
ning Alma’s parents indulged in a heated argument as 
to whether or not they’d sell him the bowl. 


70 


Pisces" Child 


Mr. Coleman insisted that it was of no value to 
them, regardless of the fact that it had “one time 
belonged to frog-eating ancestors connected with the 
ruling house of France.” 

Mrs. Coleman declared that the bowl was Alma’s and 
under no consideration would it be sold! 

Their conversation served to impress upon Alma the 
fact that money was very scarce and that her parents 
were having a hard time making ends meet. The upshot 
of it all was, she made up her mind to immediately quit 
school and go to work. 

Without consulting either of her parents, she asked 
for and secured a job in the local racket store, carrying 
with it the munificent sum of three dollars per week 
wages! 

She was delighted, but her mother was terribly indig¬ 
nant. She wanted her daughter, she said, to finish high 
school, then go back home to college. 

“What on?” Alma had briefly asked. 

“We’ll manage some way,” Mrs. Coleman insisted. 

But Alma went to work and the money she earned 
was handed with pardonable pride, to her mother, each 
Saturday night. 

Every type of humanity, sooner or later, drifted into 
the Racket Store. Alma enjoyed her work and took 
a keen interest in her customers. Her interest brought 
remunerative results with their return with the request 
that “Alma Coleman be allowed to wait upon them.” 

A lady of regal bearing came in quite frequently. The 
first time Alma noticed her she thought there was some¬ 
thing familiar about her but, racking her brain for 


Pisces* Child 


71 


hours, brought no recollection as to where or when she 
had previously seen her. 

The lady was striking in appearance. Her hair was 
an ash-color, thick and full of little curls. She wore 
beautiful dresses . . . sweeping skirts, full-gored, vol¬ 
uminous, waists tight fitting, full-bosomed, large sleeved, 
elaborately trimmed with lace and passementerie. Her 
hats were marvels of art . . . long sweeping plumes 
hanging over their brims, that even to Alma’s young 
eyes indicated "money.” 

She was very pleasant to wait on, never haggled over 
the price of an article as so many women did, but to the 
contrary always had a pleasant word and a smile for 
everyone with whom she came in contact. 

Alma took genuine pleasure in making a special 
effort to please her. One day she overheard some one 
address her as "Queenie.” She immediately decided that 
name was more appropriate than was the dignified term 
"Miss Lawrence” heretofore heard. From that time on 
the lady was "Queenie” to her. 

One day she impulsively commented upon the sing¬ 
ular beauty of a ring on the lady’s finger. 

Queenie smiled: "Do you like it?” she asked. 

"It’s beautiful,” Alma breathed in admiration. "I 
never saw one so striking in design ... it must be an 
heirloom.” 

Queenie slipped the ring from her finger and handed 
it to the surprised girl. 

"Would you like to wear it?” she asked. 

"Oh, dear, no!” Alma exclaimed. "I could not do 
that! Why, it must be quite valuable.” She was almost 


72 


Pisces* Child 


in tears, fearing that she had betrayed a covetous desire 
in her admiration. 

"It is valuable from a sentimental standpoint only 
. . . I really would like for you to have it, though . . . 
won’t you take it as a mark of my appreciation for 
your many little acts of kindness?” 

Reluctantly Alma took the ring and slipped it on her 
finger: "I will wear it for a time to please you,” she 
agreed. "But you must let me give it back to you some 
time soon . . . you understand ... It would not be 
right for me to keep it,” she added earnestly. 

That night, showing the ring to her parents, she was 
surprised at their actions when they learned how it had 
come into her possession. 

"You can’t wear that ring at all!” her mother cried 
in horrified tones. "I am surprised at you even thinking 
of such a thing!” 

"But why?” Alma demanded ... "I think it is 
beautiful.” 

"It is beautiful, I admit that,” Mrs. Coleman agreed, 
"but that person is not the type of woman I want my 
daughter to know.” 

Alma was shocked. Never before had she known her 
mother to take such an attitude ... to show such an 
intense dislike for anyone. "You must be mistaken,” she 
suggested. "Miss Lawrence is a very interesting lady. 
I wish you knew her.” 

"I don’t want to know her,” her mother declared. "I 
heard all I want to know about her, the other day. They 
were discussing her at the Ladies’ Aid Meeting. It’s 
disgraceful . . . she was implicated in something dread- 


Pisces 5 Child 


73 


ful . . . they say she is notorious in Kansas City . . . 
everyone is talking about her . . . she has a bad name!” 

"Now, Emmie, don’t go too strong . . . what’s a little 
trinket, anyway? As for what those women say . . . just 
a bunch of gossipers with nothing else to talk about . . . 
may be nothing to their talk.” Mr. Coleman half-heart¬ 
edly offered in defense of the absent Queenie. 

"I can understand your defending her,” Mrs. Cole¬ 
man cried tearfully, "men are all like that!” 

Next time Queenie came into the store, Alma insisted 
on her taking the ring back. She smiled . . . making no 
comment. 

Alma was no longer a child, although her parents 
seemed to consider her one. She was not blind to the fact 
that men had the power to grant most of the favors she 
desired in life, either. But, she was unwilling to accept 
their help on the terms they generally outlined. She’d 
had many offers extended . . . offers the very nature 
of which filled her with loathing. She had also been 
offered marriage. She was afraid of that, too. She saw 
what marriage had done to her own mother and many 
other women whom she knew were working their 
fingers to the bone, trying to support large families. 
She often thought of one of Susan B. Anthony’s 
expressions: "A woman in love is a woman in chains!” 

She did not intend to put chains around her neck . . . 
she intended to make something of herself ... to fulfill 
the dreams dreamed in the old live-oak on Point Look¬ 
out. Men didn’t interest her much, anyway. 

But ... she could see no opportunity of advance¬ 
ment were she to stay in her present position as clerk. 


74 


Pisces* Child 


Though appreciating the strictly business relation her 
employer had always maintained with his help, as well 
as being grateful for the valuable business training he 
had given her, she nevertheless, began to cast around 
a speculative eye. 

She found many openings were available, providing 
one understood stenography. She decided to attend night 
school and in this way hold her job while learning the 
new profession. 

One day, to her surprise, Queenie asked her to go 
with her for a ride the next day, which would be 
Sunday. 

For an instant Alma hesitated, trying to decide 
whether or not she could manage. Queenie’s face was 
a study, seemingly she was hurt. With Alma’s hearty, 
"Why, yes . . . that will be delightful,” she smiled. . . . 

For some reason to herself unexplained, Alma decided 
to not tell her parents where she was going or with 
whom. Just to let them think she was going alone for 
a stroll in the country, which she frequently did, a habit 
contracted at the Trading Post, never given up. 

She was thrilled over the prospect of a ride behind 
Queenie’s cream-white horses, seated in her smart car¬ 
riage, but she was disappointed. 

Arriving at the place where they were to meet, she 
found the lady waiting in an unmistakable livery rig. 
Queenie evidently did not intend to be recognized, 
either, for her features were concealed by a heavy veil. 

With a brief greeting, she told Alma to get in; then 
the horses were started off with a brisk trot. 

They rode in silence until the town was behind them. 


Pisces* Child 


75 


Alma cast frequent inquisitive glances at her companion, 
wondering at her quiet manner. 

Crossing the river where the horses splashed through 
shallow water and the wheels made a soft soughing 
sound as they rolled over the sandy bottom, they 
ascended the opposite bank, to turn off the road and 
follow a dim trail. Entering a dense grove, they came 
to a halt in a wilderness of greenery. 

"Isn’t this heavenly?” Queenie whispered, throwing 
the veil off and lifting her face in admiration to the 
trees over-shadowing them. "I love the timber. Nothing 
is more beautiful to me than a tree. As a child, I lived in 
a large house surrounded by enormous trees. I remember 
a magnolia in particular . . . even yet I can close my 
eyes and in fancy smell the perfume of its waxy-white 
blossoms. This little tract is mine and I don’t intend 
that its serenity shall ever be broken . . . when I feel 
that life is getting the best of me . . . When I must have 
my courage renewed, I come here. It’s my Haven of 
Rest. I want you to know the place . . . some time, you 
too may need its sanctuary.” 

Into Alma’s mind’s eye there came the maples in her 
grandfather’s yard and the live-oak on the great clay 
butte. She understood Queenie’s love for trees. . . . 

Then Queenie spied a redbud bush radiant with 
small, deep pink blossoms. With an exclamation of 
admiration, she sprung lightly over the buggy wheel, 
to sink with a low moan of pain onto the ground, her 
face deathly white, her hands clasped over her heart. 

"Are you hurt?” Alma cried, jumping out and run¬ 
ning to her side. 


76 


Pisces’ Child 


”1 should not have jumped,” Queenie gasped. "I for¬ 
got. I’ll be all right in a minute ... if I am not, I will 
not care! It would be such a blessed relief . . . life is so 
hard . . . but I must not talk this way ... I want 
you to carry on my work ... I don't want you to be 
frightened. I want you to understand and I brought 
you here to tell you my story . . . but first, let us find 
a comfortable seat.” 

^ith a little quivering laugh, she explained that she 
had not looked before leaping and had not landed on a 
very soft spot. 

Settling herself upon a fallen log, with Alma at her 
side, Queenie began: 

"As all fairy tales start, so does mine; but my story 
is not a fairy tale. Long time ago, on a large plantation 
in a distant state, there lived a happy little girl, her life 
centered in her big brother. He was her idol . . . her 
god! Then dark days came . . . grim war swept over 
the land and her brother answered his country's call 
to arms. 

"From the day he left, his name was never spoken 
by a member of that household ... he was as one dead. 
The girl did not understand. She grieved for her brother. 
She did not know where he had gone nor why. Long 
afterwards she learned that her stern father's pride had 
driven her brother from home. He never came back . . . 
her only brother. Now . . . she does not know whether 
he is living or dead or where his body lies, if he is dead. 

"She grew to womanhood, wondrously fair, so people 
said. She was ignorant of the pitfalls lying in wait for 
a young, innocent girl’s feet. She met one whom she 


Pisces' Child 


77 


thought was one of God’s own angels come to earth . . . 
not realizing until it was too late that she was but his 
plaything ... his toy cast aside, no longer of value to 
him, his purpose accomplished. 

"The granddaughter of one of Tennessee’s proudest, 
wealthiest and sternest men was born in poverty and 
died from neglect. The innocent babe’s mother, his 
daughter, became an outcast . . . wandering for years, 
soiled, broken, scorned by the man who should have 
shielded her from the condemnation of all so-called 
righteous people. 

"Then a lonely old man, one of God’s own noblemen, 
with no family, met her, heard her story, took pity upon 
her. In exchange for her companionship and care during 
the last months of his life, he left her an immense 
fortune, which she had not even known that he 
possessed! 

"Again she was misjudged . . . condemned! People 
said that she was an evil designing creature! They said 
she had taken advantage of his age in order to get his 
money. They tried to take it away from her, but they 
were unsuccessful! 

"A wonderful friend came to her assistance. A noble 
man who had known her as a girl. He recognized her 
in the court room and came to her rescue. 

"Then she tried to do good with the money, but the 
world would not let her alone. They gave her house an 
evil name . . . she was shunned by all so-called self- 
respecting society. Her story was spread from place to 
place, wherever she went. But she gave help to every 


78 


Pisces* Child 


girl that came to her for help, and many came who had 
no other refuge to turn to. 

"Many girls were given a lift back into new life, with 
renewed courage and their faith in humanity restored 
... of course, a few failed to make the grade, but invari¬ 
ably their second downfall was caused by members 
of their own sex. 

"Women are so critical, so unforgiving; so cruel in 
their treatment of a fallen sister. Sometimes without 
understanding, they not only condemn the unfortunate 
one, but actually push her still farther into a life of 
shame by their very condemnation. 

"Now,” she said in conclusion, "you have heard my 
story ... do you think you could carry on for me? 
Will you undertake this great work when the time 
comes for me to lay it down?” 

"But,” Alma faltered ... "I don’t understand . . . 
what could I do?” 

"Time enough for us to discuss that later on . . . just 
now we have other matters more interesting . . . your¬ 
self, for instance. Surely,” Queenie declared, "you do 
not intend to remain a clerk all your life?” 

Alma told her how she was studying shorthand, hop¬ 
ing to become a stenographer. Without realization, she 
bared her heart of all secret hopes and ambitions. 

Queenie showed a deep interest in everything the girl 
said . . . asking questions and making suggestions that 
indicated keen sympathy and complete understanding 
of her problems. 

Shadows were lengthening and the sun was low in 
the west before either one realized the lateness of the 


Pisces* Child 


79 


hour . . . then they started home. As they drew near the 
edge of town, Queenie observed: 

“Were I in your place, Alma, I would not mention 
having been with me this afternoon.” 

Alma began an indignant protest, but was interrupted 
by Queenie: 

“That’s all right, my dear,” she said, “I know how you 
feel and I appreciate your sentiment, but I know what 
is best for you. It will do you no good to be seen with 
me . . . Just take my advice, won’t you?” 


CHAPTER VII 


Time passed swiftly. Alma studied diligently and soon 
mastered shorthand. She seriously considered making 
application for a place with a new law firm just opening 
in town, but lack of confidence in her own ability, held 
her back. 

She had been greatly surprised and disappointed when 
Queenie abruptly left town the day following their 
exchange of confidence . . . without so much as a good¬ 
bye. She was all impatience to see her; needed her. 
Matters were not progressing smoothly for her. 

With the loss of his place in the Land Office, Mr. 
Coleman seemed to have lost his grip upon himself. He 
put in a lot of time standing on the street corners, 
bemoaning the demoralized state of the government and 
telling any one who by chance would stop and listen, 
just how it should be run. Along with his disinclination 
to work, he had taken to drinking. Now, seldom was he 
entirely free from the influence of liquor. 

Time came when the disillusioned girl was forced 
to admit that her father was not the hero she had always 
believed him to be . . . that he was, in fact, just common 
clay. Then memory flashed back to a day years before 
in Indiana, when she’d heard Uncle Jim declare: 

"Emmie would be a great deal better off if she never 
saw or heard tell of him again!” 

At the time she had not known who they were dis^ 
80 


Pisces* Child 


81 


cussing. But the sad realization had come ... it had 
been her own father! 

Then one day following a long gruelling period of 
hard work in the store, Alma decided that she would try 
for a better position. 

Without any real expectation of getting the place, 
she called at the office of McDuff, Williams and Stone, 
the new law firm. 

There was no one in the outer office, but a pleasant¬ 
faced, elderly man immediately came through an inner 
door upon which were the words: "A. E. McDuff, At¬ 
torney-at-law: Private.” 

He said that he was Alexander McDuff. "I will be 
busy for a few minutes,” he explained, adding, "Will 
you please be seated?” 

Picking up a volume of Longfellow’s poems he handed 
it to her, suggesting that it might interest her. With 
a low bow he then excused himself, returned to the 
inner room, closing the door behind him. 

"Southerner,” was her first thought: "Old darling,” 
her second. 

She heard voices coming faintly from the room, one 
of which she thought was Queenie’s, but immediately 
dismissed the idea, feeling quite sure she was mistaken. 

Being alone, she had time to take stock of her sur¬ 
roundings and get a grip upon herself. She was thankful 
for the opportunity, for she found that her courage 
had ebbed to low tide. 

The office furnishings were solid and substantial, pro¬ 
viding a background of dignity and responsibility. Mr. 
McDuff had also favorably impressed her, but she 


82 


Pisces 5 Child 


marveled at the temerity that had prompted her, an 
inexperienced girl, to imagine she would be given any 
consideration. 

Her thoughts put her into a panic . . . she was almost 
upon the point of flight, when Mr. McDuff came back 
in. He took a seat by her side and asked her a few ques¬ 
tions. He had such a kindly manner she immediately 
lost her self-consciousness, answering his questions 
promptly and intelligently, while he watched her with 
keen but twinkling eyes. 

She explained that she’d had no experience in office 
work but that she could write and transcribe shorthand 
with a fair amount of speed and that she felt she could 
soon learn office routine. 

"I want to work for you” she naively asserted. "I am 
but asking for a trial ... if I am unable to do your 
work, you will not need to tell me to go ... I will do 
that of my own accord.” 

He smiled, his eyes wrinkling up at the corner just 
like her grandfather’s did. In many ways he reminded 
her of Grandfather Sherman. 

"Good!” he exclaimed heartily. "That’s the proper 
spirit! Personally, I’d much rather train my own help. 
You have one point in your favor . . . you have formed 
no bad habits. Wait a minute, though—I expect I’m 
getting myself into a jam.” 

Her heart sank. She felt he had been upon the 
point of giving her the place when something stopped 
him. She wanted that job—wanted it the most that 
she had ever wanted anything in her life. 

Taking a small memorandum book from his vest 


Pisces* Child 


83 


pocket, Mr. McDuff consulted it briefly. A relieved 
smile spread over his face. "Now, let me see,” he said, 
"what did you say was your name?” 

"Coleman,” she told him, repeating, "Alma Cole¬ 
man. Hope revived with his pleased expression. 

"Well . . . now, that’s what I call luck,” he de¬ 
clared. "When can you begin work?” 

She never knew what she told him, nor could she 
remember how she got out of his office, down the 
stairs. The first thing she knew, she was racing up 
the path leading to the front door of her home, eager 
to tell her mother the news. 

It had been hard for her to resist the temptation 
to shout aloud, "I’ve got a new job! I’m going to be a 
stenographer!” Then the thought struck her . . . "Not 
a word was said concerning salary . . . well . . she 
chuckled in amusement ... "I expect I’ll get more 
than I am worth at that!” 

Opening the door she cried joyfully: "Mother! 
Guess what!” No answer came to her cry. 

A stab of pain struck her heart. Never before had 
her mother failed to answer her call. A premonition 
of something wrong sobered her: 

"Mother . . . where are you?” she called again, 
slowly, fearfully entering the room. 

Beside the table, head buried in arms, body racked 
with sobs, was her mother, so absorbed in grief the 
girl’s cry had been unheard. 

"Mother,” she cried, running to her side and gather¬ 
ing the weeping woman up into strong, young arms. 
"What in the world is the matter?” 


84 


Pisces* Child 


"It’s Father,” Mrs. Coleman moaned. "There,” she 
pointed to a ball of yellow paper lying on the table. 

Alma picked up the paper, smoothed it out and read: 

"FATHER VERY ILL STOP NO HOPES FOR 
HIS RECOVERY STOP HE IS ASKING FOR YOU 
STOP CAN YOU COME STOP ANSWER STOP” 

It was signed, "Your Brother Jim.” 

Understanding sympathy filled her heart. She knew 
the deep affection existing between her mother and 
Grandfather Sherman. It had been a tragedy to Mrs. 
Coleman that she had been unable to ’*eturn and visit 
him. During their second winter in the Territory, 
when the messige came after days of delay, telling 
them that Grandmother Sherman had passed away, 
Mrs. Coleman took the blow with calmness, realizing 
that it was one of the hardships of frontier life,—but 
now,—it seemed she could not bear up. 

"You are going,” Alma declared. "Have you an¬ 
swered?” 

"No—I have not had time—it just came—besides, 
we have no money,” Mrs. Coleman faltered. "Oh, 
Father—Father! To think I will never see you again, 
either . . . this is more than I can bear!” 

Tears rolled down Alma’s cheeks as she, too, thought 
of the kindly old gentleman whom she knew she would 
not see again. She patted her mother’s shoulder, fight¬ 
ing for control of her own emotions, thinking rapidly. 

"Six-thirty,” she murmured, glancing at the clock: 
"train goes at seven-forty-five—no time to lose . . . 
where’s Father?” Without waiting for an answer, she 


Pisces* Child 


85 


added, "but I should not have asked that. Now, don’t 
you worry . . . you’re going . . . hurry and get ready 
. . . I’ll run out and get Father!” 

She had no intention of looking for him; she was 
going to get money from some source, for a ticket to 
Indianapolis. Her father, she felt, would be no help 
now ... he was probably in Pete Miller’s saloon, drunk, 
as usual. 

Memory of the voice heard in Mr. McDuff’s office 
came . . . she’d go to her . . . she’d help her, of that 
she felt sure. 

Rapidly she walked to Queenie’s house . . . arriving 
there, she rang the bell. While waiting for some one to 
answer, she looked around. There was nothing that 
she could see to warrant people saying this was a joint 
similar to the one Queenie ran in Kansas City. 

A smiling negro girl opened the door. 

"I want to see Queenie . . . tell her it’s Alma,” she 
told the girl. 

"Sorry, Miss—she’s done gone back to Kansas City 
. . . left bout an hour ago!” was the girl’s answer. 

Without a word, Alma staggered from the door, eyes 
so blinded with tears of disappointment she could not 
see the path. At the gate she paused, trying to decide 
what she’d do. Memory came of Dr. Kibbie’s offer . . . 
"Maybe he’ll give me enough for a ticket . . . I’ll try 
him,” she thought, hastening to his office, finding him 
alone. 

"Doctor,” she began, talking rapidly, breathless from 
her rapid walk ... "I need help . . . you said once 
you would take it if we ever decided to let it go . . . 


86 


Pisces* Child 


I need money . . . won’t you let me have it . . . won’t 
you take my bowl?” 

The doctor looked at her with surprised, disappointed 
eyes . . . making no answer to her disjointed explana¬ 
tion. 

She feared Dr. Kibbie was not going to respond . . . 
she grew desperate in her need. Time was passing so 
fast . . . twenty precious minutes had already slipped 
by. 

“You said you would—” she reminded him. 

“Yes,” he admitted, “and I will. But what do you 
want me to do?” 

“Oh,” she exclaimed, “how stupid of me. I thought 
you knew! It’s Mother ... I mean it’s Grandfather— 
he’s ill—they’ve sent for Mother—we have no money 
for her ticket. . . .” 

The man’s face cleared. He smiled. “Why didn’t you 
say so in the first place? You had me frightened. I was 
afraid you’d got yourself into a jam!” 

Taking his purse from his pocket, he asked: “How 
much do you need?” Without waiting for her to answer 
he added, “But I’ll attend to all that. You run on and 
get your Mother ready. I’ll be at the depot with her 
ticket . . . you’ve very little time, you know.” 

She turned to leave, heart filled with gratitude. At 
the door she paused, coming back to his side. “Doctor,” 
she said huskily, eyes filling with tears again, "you are 
all right! No matter what you ask of me, any time, 
I’ll do it—willingly—gladly!” 

“Tut! Tut! Don’t be a goose,” he said, patting her 
shoulder. “You have no time for sentiment now. . . .” 


Pisces’ Child 


87 


Still she hesitated. 

Gently he pushed her through the door. "Scoot, now,” 
he said. 

Arriving home, she found her mother still sitting, a 
dazed, hopeless expression on her face. 

"Now, Mother,” she said briskly, "we have but thirty 
minutes to get ready ... we must hurry!” 

They were soon ready. Mr. Coleman had not yet 
arrived. Mrs. Coleman insisted that she could not leave 
without seeing him. Alma reminded her that no other 
train would leave for twelve hours. 

Then, with the locomotive’s warning whistle coming 
faintly to their ears, they hurried to the station. Dr. 
Kibbie was there waiting for them. Surreptitiously he 
slipped an envelope into Alma’s Land. Peeping in, she 
saw a ticket for Indianapolis, a Pullman reservation 
and several bills of different denominations. He gave 
Mrs. Coleman a nicely-packed lunch, some fruit and 
magazines. 

Alma felt that her heart was breaking, but she main¬ 
tained a cheerful face until the train pulled out, her 
mother on board. Then, eyes blinded with tears, she 
slowly turned homeward. 

Her father met her at the door. As usual, he had 
been drinking. One of his cronies, it seemed, had seen 
Alma leaving Queenie’s door, staggering, unable to see 
her way. His evil mind could put but one construction 
upon the sight . . . that was the version he had carried 
to Mr. Coleman, who had immediately come home in a 
terrible temper. 

When he stopped, exhausted from raving, Alma 


88 


Pisces' Child 


turned upon him with flashing eyes and hurled at him 
a storm of bitter reproaches. First, she reminded him of 
the depths to which they had sunk as a result of his 
continual drinking ... of the physical and spiritual 
wreck he’d made of her mother ... of the contempt 
people had for him . . . people whom she said had once 
admired and respected him. 

All the bitterness that had been accumulating in her 
heart for months, years, almost, welled up and over¬ 
flowed in a torrent of hot, passionate accusations. 

With her stopping, leaving nothing unsaid, without 
a word, he left the house. Slowly he went down the 
path leading to the gate, stood there for an instant 
fumbling with its catch, then he passed through and 
turned toward the open country. 

In her anger, Alma had lost all control of herself, 
but finding herself alone, soon regained her composure. 
Then she realized what she had done . . . was horrified. 

All night she lay awake listening for his step, but he 
did not come home. She went to work the next morning 
with a heavy heart. All day she felt that a sword was 
hanging just over her head, ready to drop. She dreaded 
going home, delayed the going as long as was possible. 

But her fears were not justified. 

Mr. Coleman met her at the door, cleanly shaved, 
clear-eyed and sober. 

She started a faltering apology. He interrupted her, 
saying, "I had it all coming to me . . . just what I 
needed to make me see where I was headed. I’ve been 
an awful rotter ... a selfish brute . . . but that’s all 
past. The only excuse I can offer is, I let my weakness 


Pisces’ Child 


89 


get the best of me. I’m sorry, little girl . . . won’t you 
forgive me? I want to make up to you and your mother 
for all the suffering I have caused. God!” His voice 
broke and sobs shook his body. “When I think of all 
I’ve done! Alma ... do you think your mother can ever 
forgive me?” 

Alma threw her arms around him and drew his head 
to her shoulder, mingling her tears with his. “Of course 
she will ... We love you. Oh, I am so happy I could 
die!” 

Long into the night they sat, hand in hand, planning 
the future. Now, they were going to make life easy for 
the little mother ... no more sorrow for her. 

The happiest day of her life was that on which Alma 
wrote to her mother and told her that Mr. Coleman 
had a job with a surveying party leaving soon for the 
Kickapoo country, that section being made ready for 
settlement. That his physical and mental condition was 
the best it had been in years . . . that she was drawing 
eight dollars a week from the law firm, enjoyed her 
work and for her to stay as long as grandfather needed 
her or she wanted to stay. 

Mr. Sherman lingered for weeks, happy that his 
daughter was with him and that all seemed well with 
her. 

When the new Territorial Governor came to take 
office, Mrs. McDuff was one of the first to entertain in 
his honor. 

Alma was present, wearing her first evening dress. 
For a time the neckless, sleeveless dress had dismayed 
her, but standing in Mrs. McDuff’s room, critically 


90 


Pisces’ Child 


surveying herself in a long mirror, she had to admit 
that clothes did make a difference. 

Even her hair looked better arranged by that lady’s 
deft fingers; the ratted pompadour discarded, it was 
now loosely coiled in a psyche knot on the back of her 
head. The soft blue of the dress and the flush of excite¬ 
ment on her cheeks, brought out the blue of her eyes. 
"Why, I’m really pretty,” she thought with a thrill of 
pride. 

"Just a little gift,” Mrs. McDuff explained as she 
came in and fastened a small pearl chain around the 
girl’s throat. "With this rose in your bodice, it is all the 
ornament you need. Young girls should never wear too 
much jewelry,” she added. 

During the dinner, the Governor explained how he 
hoped to get Oklahoma admitted to the Union as a 
state, Indian Territory to be included. 

Alma was much interested. She knew this plan would 
embrace the old Trading Post site. 

Entering into the conversation, she impulsively 
exclaimed that the eastern territory was not prepared 
for statehood. "Its citizens,” she said, "will not welcome 
the change in the administration of their government. 
I feel that they will vigorously oppose the movement.” 

Alma’s statements drew the governor’s attention to 
her and a lengthy discussion between the two followed, 
every one giving them close attention as he drew out 
her intimate opinions of the Indians’ probable reaction 
to his plan. 

The McDuffs were delighted with their protege. Her 
popularity in political circles dated from that dinner. 


CHAPTER VIII 


McDuff, Williams and Stone, represented several 
out-of-town clients and they were frequently called 
upon to extend favors not in line with the legal 
profession. 

One Sunday, some parties left a large sum of money 
with Mr. McDuff, asking him to deposit it in the bank 
for them the next day. 

Being busy himself the next morning, he asked Alma 
to take the money to the bank. 

This was nothing unusual for her to do; she often 
made deposits for the firm. 

With the money in a small handbag, she started to 
the bank. Noticing several men on horseback in the 
street, she gave them no more than a passing thought. 
Afterwards she reproached herself that she had failed 
to realize that those grim-faced men were not out for 
pleasure. 

Entering the bank, she absent-mindedly noticed that 
some of the men followed her in. Still she placed no 
sinister meaning on the incident. 

Then she noticed several strangers in the room. A line 
at the window all seemed to be drawing money . . . 
small amounts, it seemed. That gave her an idea. She’d 
draw some money herself . . . she was out of change. 

Stepping over to a desk by the window, she made 
out a check, then glanced out the window. With the 
exception of the men she had first noticed, the street 


91 


92 


Pisces* Child 


seemed deserted. "Strange for Monday morning, ,, she 
thought. Then her eye caught sight of a dense smoke 
rising far off to the edge of town. 

"Fire,” she thought, "that’s where every one has 
gone!” 

She turned, intending to join the line at the window 
to make her deposit and cash her check, but a voice at 
her side halted her; a voice cold, menacing: 

"Just keep cool and stay right where you are and 
you’ll not be bothered a-tall!” 

"That voice,” she thought, "where have I heard it?” 

She glanced up; only the man’s eyes were visible . . . 
eyes that glittered like needle-points, shining through 
slits in a dark handkerchief that almost covered his 
face. The meaning of the horsemen came to her ... it 
was all clear now. The bank was being robbed! 

Then she thought of all that money in her possession. 
Caught sight of the check in her hand. Maybe she could 
make them think it was her mission in the bank. The 
bag, containing the money, still lay on the desk where 
she had placed it previous to making out the check. 
She left it there, as though it were of no importance 
and stood watching men scoop up currency placed 
outside in anticipation of the day’s business while others 
rifled the vault, bringing out bundles of money and 
bags of reserve cash. 

Silently they worked, swiftly they moved; no con¬ 
fusion, no delay. Each man seemed to know what to 
do and did it. In her nervousness Alma giggled. The 
bank officials and employees looked so foolish, she 


Pisces* Child 


93 


thought, standing in line, faces to the wall, hands above 
their heads. 

Not a shot was fired; not a sound made. Unhampered, 
the outlaws finished their work. 

Silently they prepared to leave. Guns in hands they 
backed to the door, covering their retreat. They were 
ready to fire, she realized, with the flicker of an eye or 
the twitching of a hand. There was no opportunity for 
any one to give an alarm. 

Then, in a spirit of bravado, the man whose voice 
Alma had thought familiar, swept the broad-brimmed 
hat from his head and made her a low bow. With a 
start of surprise she saw that his hair was a peculiar 
shade of red! Only one person she had ever known had 
hair that color. . . . And, too, she saw a small nick in 
his right ear! 

Memory raced backward: 

One day, years before, while living at the Indian 
Trading Post, a gun in the hand of Chris Murdough had 
accidently gone off! The bullet in its passage had barely 
missed the boy’s head, but a small nick in his right 
ear had marked its course. 

She almost cried aloud: *T know you, you despicable 
rat!” But before the words were uttered she thought 
better, knowing that her own life would possibly be 
the forfeit. As it was, she controlled her expression 
and the man left the bank without knowing that he’d 
been recognized. 

With the last man leaving the bank, the door had 
been locked. One man stood outside the door until the 


94 


Pisces" Child 


others were mounted and safely off; then he, too, rode 
swiftly away. 

With his departure, every one in the bank became 
excited. Valuable time was lost, trying to unlock the 
door before it was broken open. Telephone lines were 
found to be cut and before the alarm could be sent 
out, the outlaws had successfully covered their retreat. 
No one had seen their going; each man rode a different 
direction, it seemed, their movements exciting no 
interest. 

Alma was uncertain, but that some one connected 
with the bank had been in league with the outlaws, for 
the "hold-up” had been so easy and there had been 
such an unusual amount of money on hand at the time. 
She was inclined to believe that the robbery was not 
altogether unexpected. 

Regarding the possible identity of any of the despera¬ 
does, she kept silent, not knowing in whom she could 
safely confide. 

With Mrs. Coleman’s return from Indiana, a tract 
of land was purchased with money from her father’s 
estate and as soon as possession could be obtained, they 
moved thereon. For the first time in her life, Alma 
lived under a roof that belonged to her own family. 

The house stood on the top of a red, clay hill over¬ 
looking the town, and the river lay between them and 
the "city limits.” 

The house was not much in the way of structure, 
but to Alma it was the most beautiful building she 
had ever seen. 

The walls were made of upright planks, their cracks 


Pisces* Child 


95 


stripped with strips of native lumber. The roof was 
hand-split clapboards, rough, uneven, but satisfactory. 
The main building was two rooms; a low-ceilinged loft 
above which had been partitioned off, and served as 
bedrooms. A lean-to kitchen extended along the entire 
side of the building, which was also their dining room. 
On a shelf in the parlor stood the old silver bowl that 
had been handed down from generation to generation 
of Mrs. Coleman’s family. The crest on its side pro¬ 
claimed that even though it now occupied a place in 
humble surroundings, it one time belonged to people of 
royal blood. 

Carpeted with rag carpet, the rooms were comfortable 
and though their walls were cracked and the paper torn 
from the building’s constant rocking by the wind, to 
Alma’s eyes they were wonderful, and nothing marred 
their beauty. 

In the yard near the front door, grew a monstrous 
oak. Between the tree and the corner of the house 
swung a barrel-stave hammock. Lying here in the 
evening, Alma would watch lights across the river, 
fancying their twinkling rays were friendly eyes 
watching over her. The faint sound of town life was 
a wonderful music to her. 

A trumpet vine, with bell-shaped blossoms, covered 
one end of the house and a Queen of the Prairie Rose 
climbed a lattice frame in the yard. Beds of rose-moss 
bordered a path leading from the kitchen door to that 
of a dug-out in the back yard. A well with rope and 
pulley to draw up its sparkling water, was near by. This 
well was the first place Alma visited each day upon 


96 


Pisces" Child 


arrival home, hot and tired from work, for a pail of 
fresh, sweet buttermilk always hung by a rope in its 
cool depths. 

A mockingbird had a nest in the oak and the night 
air was made musical with his rapturous singing. 
Petunias, marigolds and zinnias cast a fragrance on the 
air and from the back lot there came an occasional 
moo from a placid old cow. 

Life for Alma was running along a peaceful, happy 
channel. The only thing that marred her pleasure was 
Queenie, again in Kansas City. It was vaguely rumored 
that she was in very poor health as well as in financial 
difficulties. 

Alma heard the report and was much concerned. She 
was very fond of the lady . . . did not believe the dubious 
stories whispered concerning her and felt she was 
terribly misunderstood. 

One morning, while she was eating breakfast, Alma 
was surprised to see Mr. McDuff drive up. She won¬ 
dered what could be bringing him and why he had 
not told her to come to the office early, if he needed 
her. They’d recently had a telephone installed ... he 
could have summoned her by that means. 

The man made no apology for his early call . . . 
simply handed the girl a folded telegram. Opening the 
paper, a feeling of impending sorrow in her heart, Alma 
read: 

“MISS ARABELLE LAWRENCE DIED THIS 
MORNING STOP AWAITING YOUR INSTRUC¬ 
TIONS.” 

It was signed by the superintendent of a Kansas City 


Pisces’ Child 


97 


Hospital. Silently Alma handed the message back to 
Mr. McDuff, a mute question in her eyes that had filled 
with tears. 

"There are some papers in my safe left in my care 
by Miss Lawrence, with instructions that they be given 
you in the event of her death,” the lawyer explained. 
"Mrs. McDuff and I are leaving shortly for Kansas 
City. I thought best that you examine those papers 
before I leave . . . there may be something in them 
that I should know . . . some expressed wish, you 
understand.” 

"Yes,” Alma agreed, "M come at once . . . maybe,” 
she hesitated, "I wonder . . . don’t you think she’d 
want me to come, too? You see—she and I were friends 
. . . she trusts me ... I knew something of her life . . . 
I believe she’d want me . . . would expect me . . . Oh, 
Mother! Why don’t you say something? Surely—you 
understand my interest,” she cried, turning to Mrs. 
Coleman who was standing in grim silence beside the 
table. 

"Well—perhaps she would—after all—who are we 
to judge? But whether or not you go, that’s for Mr. 
McDuff to decide,” Mrs. Coleman asserted. 

"We’ll see,” Mr. McDuff agreed, "just now the more 
important matter is those papers.” 

En route to the office, Alma told her companion about 
Queenie’s confidential information. He agreed with her 
that it was possibly an outline of her plans that they’d 
find in his safe, with other papers. He also told her 
that he had known Miss Lawrence as a child in 
Tennessee and that she was the only daughter of a 


98 


Pisces’ Child 


proud, stern and very wealthy old aristocrat. "Rather 
a despot in his rule.” was his description. "Quite by 
accident I ran onto Belle in Kansas City. She per¬ 
suaded me to come here and open an office ... I am 
glad I came for I have done exceedingly well . . . far 
beyond my expectations. Belle Lawrence was one of 
the shrewdest business women I ever met. I never knew 
of her being far from right in any matter.” Then he 
chuckled . . . "She persuaded me to give you a trial 
... I almost hired you before I learned that you were 
the girl. She was right . . . you are smart and you are 
a very competent and valuable assistant.” 

"Thank you, sir,” Alma murmured. "I knew she was 
greatly interested in me, but I didn’t dream she was 
so much so . . . this decides matters . . . I’m going with 
you to Kansas City, if you’ll permit my doing so ... ” 

"Certainly ... by all means. I’m glad you’ve made 
your decision. . . .” 

Opening the safe upon their arrival at the office, 
Mr. McDuff handed Alma a sealed envelope on which 
was written, "For Alma Coleman, in the event of my 
death,” signed, "Arabelle Lawrence.” 

With trembling fingers Alma broke the seal. First 
she found a certified check for a large sum made payable 
to herself, then detailed instructions regarding Queenie’s 
own burial. 

She wanted, she stated, her body taken back to 
Tennessee and put beside that of her mother. The check 
was for the expense of Alma’s accompanying her body 
there and the carrying out of her last wishes. 

Alma told Mr. McDuff that she was glad she had 


Pisces’ Child 


99 


made her decision before learning the contents of the 
envelope. He smiled ... a rather enigmatic knowing 
smile . . . 

Arriving in Tennessee, they found that evil days 
had fallen upon The Beeches, one time the home of 
Arabelle Lawrence. Its lawn, once the pride of a proud 
family, was no longer a place of beauty. 

Rank weeds and thistles stood in spots once sacred 
to rose and colombine; morning-glories, Virginia-creep- 
ers and honeysuckle, covered the pillars of a latticed 
summer-house and contributed their share in a back-to- 
nature movement under sway in the grounds. 

Beneath the grand old beech trees from whence the 
house had derived its name, an entire South’s proud 
social arbiter one time strolled—now, pigs lay un¬ 
molested in their shade or rooted in the spaces between. 

The house had fought a brave fight with the ele¬ 
ments. Now it stood as a monument, grim reminder of 
a long forgotten splendor, aloof from all its neighbors, 
neglected and alone. 

For years its only tenants were a feeble old man 
with one negro servant as old, feeble and almost as 
queer as himself. Here he had lived in the ruins of his 
former grandeur, unwilling, or unable to atone for 
the mistakes of his life. 

Visitors gradually ceased to come to The Beeches. 
Its tenants were left much to themselves and eventually 
the place came to be regarded with distrust. 

And then the story was told and grew with repetition, 
that the last of the Lawrences was in league with evil 
spirits! 


100 


Pisces* Child 


Old General Eliheu Lawrence died alone, unmourned. 
Very few of his one-time friends even knew the hour 
of his going into the mysteries of death. 

Now . . . when the McDuffs and Alma Coleman 
came to return to the soil all that was left of Arabelle 
Lawrence, one-time idolized daughter, they heard cer¬ 
tain vague whispers. 

It was said that spirits of almost forgotten Lawrences, 
came with night from the land of mystery and that 
they reveled unmolested within The Beeches’ spacious 
halls. That ofttimes in the wee small hours, immediately 
following midnight, when the moon was in its darkest, 
strains of soft music could be heard accompanied by 
the sound of steps keeping time to the stately minuet. 
That mysterious lights were sometimes seen! Lights that 
appeared as candles in the hands of ghostly forms, 
flitting from room to room. 

And this was all that was waiting to receive the last 
daughter of the Lawrences. 

As Alma stood beneath a large magnolia tree near 
The Beeches, she tried to visualize the place in all its 
undimmed glory. 

Far in the distance she could see the bold outline of 
Chickamauga Ridge, silhouetted against the lighter blue 
of a summer sky. It was there she remembered, in what 
history recorded as one of the Civil War’s decisive 
battles, Uncle Jim had fallen, desperately wounded. She 
remembered his telling how a dark, stern, grey-clad 
officer had mercifully ordered the fallen blue-clad foe 
to be cared for . . . Vaguely she recalled hearing Uncle 
Jim say his name was “Lawrence.” She wondered if it 


Pisces’ Child 


101 


was possible Uncle Jim’s kindly enemy had been 
Queenie’s father, General Eliheu Lawrence. 

The house stood well back from the banks of a river 
. . . she had not heard its name. Colossal columns, grey 
and dull, extended along the entire front of the house 
which was of enormous size. She conceived the idea 
that the place was an institution instead of a private 
home. 

She determined, if possible, to see the inside of the 
house. She realized that she had no right to enter, but 
something seemed to pull her that way. Finding a 
board over one of the windows, loose, she fulled it off 
and through the opening thus secured, reached in and 
unlatched the shutter. Rolling the window up, she 
crawled through into a dark, damp, spacious room. 

From its furnishings, Alma judged that she was in 
the library. Pictures of men and women painted in a 
pre-Civil War period, hung on the wall. She took it 
for granted they were Lawrences. 

Rows of musty, mildewed books, lined the spaces 
between windows and a chandelier of crystal glass hung 
from the center of the ceiling. She estimated that it 
had taken hundreds of candles to properly light that 
great room. 

In the dim light filtering through the shuttered 
windows, she examined the pictures, staring at her from 
massive gilt frames, tarnished and stained with age. 
She fancied they were frowning upon her, resenting 
her breaking in upon their solitude. 

She shivered! A feeling of awe came to her. 


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Unfriendly eyes, she felt, were watching her every 
move! 

In sharp contrast to the men, the ladies were fair. In 
many of the painted faces she thought she could see 
a resemblance to Queenie. The men were all stern, dark, 
forbidding! She wondered if they had ever smiled— 
loved or been loved. 

One canvas strangely attracted, yet repelled her. She 
felt that somewhere, sometime, she had known its 
living counterpart. Turning the canvas, she managed 
to decipher some small letters at the bottom: "Eliheu 
Lawrence,” she read, and the date, "1847.” 

"Queenie’s father,” she exclaimed aloud, forgetting 
that she was alone in a ghostly building. Her voice 
echoed back with increased volume, causing her to 
glance around fearfully, positive that someone was near. 
With the feeling, she lost all desire to explore the old 
building and was glad to feel the fresh, pure air in her 
face as she crawled back through the window. 

Sniffing the air gratefully, a delightful scent not 
before noticed, came to Alma. Near by, nestling against 
the well, almost crowded out by weeds and wortle- 
berries, was a small rose bush, weighted down with 
great, golden-yellow blossoms. 

"Lovely,” she whispered, dropping on her knees and 
burying her face in their fragrance. Memory came to 
her of Queenie’s great love for yellow roses. "I’ll put 
these on her grave,” she thought. 

The McDuffs had become alarmed over Alma’s 
prolonged absence. Just as she put the board back in 


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place over the window, they came around the corner 
of the house, looking for her. 

Together they made a last visit to Queenie’s grave, 
leaving it banked with golden roses and from there 
went directly to their train to return home .. . Mrs. 
McDuff and Alma going straight home, Mr. McDuff 
going back by way of Kansas City, to go into some of 
Miss Lawrence’s business affairs in that city. 


CHAPTER IX 


When Alma arrived at the office, she found an 
accumulation of work waiting for her. In Mr. McDuff’s 
absence, it fell to her to open, sort and answer an 
immense stack of mail. 

The train had arrived early in the morning and she 
had come to the office directly from the station. Now, 
taking time only to call her mother to advise her of 
her return, she plunged into the work, leaving details 
of the trip to be gone into with her arrival home that 
evening. 

About mid-morning she became terribly depressed 
but attributed it to hunger, she having taken no time 
to eat before going to work. But, satisfying her hunger 
failed to lighten her sense of something unpleasant. As 
the morning wore on, her sense of nervousness increased. 
Her fingers seemed stiff, she was unable to work with 
her usual speed or accuracy. Striking the wrong key, 
she made countless mistakes ... at times almost wept in 
her exasperation. 

The air was intensely sultry and oppressive. Perspira¬ 
tion poured out on Alma’s forehead and ran down her 
cheeks in big drops. Her hands were clammy, even to 
her own touch they felt cold, regardless of the excessive 
heat. 

She was alone in the office, but was not fraid. She 
had never been afraid, even when on a few occasions 
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105 


she had been alone at night. But now, she caught herself 
shivering as though she had the ague. 

She tried to shake off the ever present feeling of 
dread, the fear of calamity, tried to concentrate on the 
work demanding attention—for a time she succeeded. 

Then a big blue fly began to buzz and drone around 
her head . . . almost driving her frantic. Without being 
conscious of the act, she slapped at him viciously, 
striking her hand against a sharp corner of the book 
shelves at her back. She did not realize that she had 
hurt herself until blood, dripping on the brief she was 
preparing, caught her attention. 

About mid-afternoon, a cloudpeak reared itself above 
the horizon in the far southwest. With a sigh of relief 
she took note of its formation: "Maybe it will rain, ,, 
she thought. 

As heat waves rose and fell over the roof of near-by 
buildings, the cloud gradually grew larger. Much as a 
mass of carded cotton it was silhouetted against the 
deepening azure of the summer sky. For sometime it 
remained apparently motionless, and then Alma saw it 
change to a pearl-grey and rise perceptibly. Its base 
changed to a dark mass, flanked on either side by rolls 
of a darker nimbus. 

A sudden little whirwind entering the room through 
her open window, caught up her neatly typed papers 
and scattered them over the office in wild confusion, 
leaving the chairs, her desk, hair and even her clothing, 
covered with a thick, fine pall of red dust. 

There came the distant roll of thunder and all the 
earth seemed to stop and listen. Everything became 


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deathly quiet an$l oppressive. Other mountain-peaks 
of cumulus now boldly showed themselves. 

A feeling of awe came to Alma as hands poised over 
her typewriter, she watched the clouds push each other 
forward, crowding and rolling, towering upward in an 
aweful grandeur. 

A fretful breeze awoke and leaped out from the 
dusty street, as if for a frolic with scraps of paper and 
other refuse lying in its path. 

Narrow tongues of flame zig-zagged across and 
athwart the rolling masses as deep-toned thunder rolled, 
making her think of cannon booming from height to 
height of inky darkness that almost instantly swept 
across the heavens. 

The wind grew rampageous. She saw great trees at 
the edge of town toss aloft their leaf-clad arms as if 
in appeal to the ruthless storm god. 

Hail pounding with terrific force, beat down every¬ 
thing in its path. Then came a breathless lull. The wind 
ceased! Not a breath of air was stirring. A silence as 
of death covered the land! 

Then suddenly like a cruel, gruesome, living monster, 
a shape took form! A huge, black funnel with a long, 
sinuous neck below! 

It writhed, squirmed and twisted as might a wounded 
tortuous serpent. Earth cowered in its path, aghast with 
terror of that evil power. Then the Scourge of Death 
hurled itself down upon the defenseless objects with 
lightning speed across the land, leaving destruction and 
desolation in its wake. 

Swiftly, following the cyclone there came a deluge 


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107 


of rain. Roofs of many buildings gave way with the 
weight of water so suddenly thrown upon them. The 
streets immediately became torrents. 

After throwing a prismatic-hued rainbow across the 
sky to remind men of God’s covenant with them, the 
storm gods marshaled their forces. With a few last 
parting rolls of thunder, they departed, their purpose 
accomplished—satisfied that they had demonstrated to 
mere man their impotence. 

During the storm, Alma was unable to work. She 
walked from window to door and back to window, 
watching the play of heavenly forces. With the storm’s 
passing, her uneasiness increased and she was unable 
to concentrate upon her work. Her entire body was 
numb and a pain beyond description gripped her heart. 

Presently her attention was drawn to the peculiar 
actions of some people in the street—they kept pointing 
toward the northeast and they seemed much excited. 
Curiosity as to the cause of their excitement, prompted 
Alma to enter Mr. McDuff’s private office, his windows 
having a northeast exposure. Then she understood. 

Far in the distance, as far as her eye could see, was 
evidence of the storm’s havoc in uprooted trees, 
wrecked buildings and otherwise damaged property. 

A terrible fear gripped her heart . . . her own home 
lay directly in this path of destruction. 

She neither knew how nor when she left the office 
building; had no recollection of running wildly into 
the street to demand someone in a buggy, to take her 
home. She had no realization of the wild drive the 
man made over a confusion of wreckage and around 


108 


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almost impassable barriers, at the same time trying to 
assure her of her parent’s safety. 

The first thing she realized, she was standing in the 
ruins of her home, gazing into the upturned face of 
her mother where she had found her, under a limb of 
the great oak that had grown beside the door. Tightly 
clasped in her arms was her great-grandmother’s old 
silver bowl! 

From Mr. Coleman’s story told weeks after the storm, 
it seemed that he and Mrs. Coleman had seen the storm’s 
approach and realizing their danger, had started to 
the dug-out for safety. He did not know that she had 
not preceded him, he said, until he got there, then he 
went back looking for her . . . was caught in the 
building as it was lifted into the air and with its 
collapse, was pinned in its wreckage. 

From the presence of the bowl in her arms, it was 
taken for granted that Mrs. Coleman had gone back 
for it and upon leaving the house the second time, had 
been struck by a limb of the falling tree, which had 
instantly killed her. 

Terribly crushed and broken, Mr. Coleman was 
conscious and calling frantically for his wife, when 
they found him. "Is Emmie all right?” he gasped, as 
they lifted him clear of the debris. Blissful oblivion 
came to him before he found the extent of the blow the 
storm gods had dealt him that day. 

It is the privilege of the dramatist to ring down the 
curtain at the end of one scene and to raise it again 
on another scene, far removed from the first, indicating 
a lapse of time. It is also the privilege of the novelist 


Pisces* Child 


109 


to jump from one event to another by ending one para¬ 
graph and opening another. But in real life there is 
no such blessed intervals between periods of sorrow, 
mental anguish and readjustment. We must live 
through our hours of trouble as well as through those 
of happiness and, though our hearts may be breaking, 
we must gather up the broken threads of our life, tie 
them together the best we can, to go on, on and on, to 
the end of our destiny. 

In those first few days following the storm, Alma 
felt that life was not worth living. But, each day’s 
insistent demand claimed a part of her attention and 
she was unable to give way to her emotions. 

Only in the solitude of her room and in the darkness 
of night, was she able to let down the floodgates of 
her heart while storms of weeping tore her body, 
bringing to her stricken soul in some measure, a weary 
consolation. 

She felt at times that it would be impossible to go 
on . . . Her inspiration, her home broken up . . . 
scattered to the four winds of the heavens ... all 
destroyed. Her father crippled, hourly praying for death 
to release him from his suffering. 

Sight of the silver bowl, left where some thoughtless 
person had placed it, filled her with fury. "Had it not 
been for that thing,” she thought bitterly, "my mother 
would be living today.” 

In the bitterness of despair she cried aloud: "Why, 
O God, why did it have to be?” 

Almost as though in answer to her cry, memory 
came of a song her mother had often sung: 


110 


Pisces’ Child 


"And then sometime we’ll understand!” 

Peace came to her troubled heart. She seemed to hear 
her mother’s gentle voice begging her to not lose faith, 
telling her to trust in God through all her days and 
that sometime she, too, would understand. 

Then when she had become somewhat reconciled, 
when she had knitted together the broken strands of 
her life and was again able to look the future bravely 
in the face, they broke the news to her gently, fearful 
of the reaction its knowledge would cause. 

Something, they were rather vague as to what had 
happened to her father’s spine. It was positive he would 
never walk again: probable that he would be helpless the 
remainder of his life. 

Again Alma went down into her Gethsemane. But 
youth is resilient and time heals all wounds. Bravely 
she assumed this extra burden. "Surely,” she thought, 
"life can have no more sorrow to offer me . . . surely 
my cup has been filled.” 

Then Mr. McDuff told of the surprise he had in store 
for her. Arabelle Lawrence had been an immensely 
wealthy woman at the time of her death. Mr. McDuff 
said he knew she had been a great gambler, loving to 
take a chance in business undertakings, but he had not 
known that she had used such good judgment in her 
investments. 

He had her will, he said, but had hesitated in making 
its contents known, not being aware himself of the 
extent of her holdings. It had been drawn up the day 
following Alma and Queenie’s exchange of confidence 
and, by its provision, Alma was made heir to one-half 


Pisces* Child 


111 


of all her real estate with the exception of Hillcrest, 
her home, and the tract described as “Haven of Rest.” 
Hillcrest was to be entirely Alma’s, and Haven of Rest 
was to become the town’s property to be used for a 
children’s park. All of her personal property, including 
the ring, one time so greatly admired by Alma, was also 
to be given the girl. 

The remainder of Queenie’s property was to be held 
in trust by Alexander McDuff, pending the location, if 
possible, of her brother, William Henry Lawrence. If 
it was found that he had died without leaving issue, 
then all the estate was to go to Alma with no restric¬ 
tions. And in the event that no trace of the brother 
was ever located, at the expiration of two years, the 
entire estate was to become her’s. 

Miss Lawrence explained her reason for making Alma 
her heir was mutual affection, plans understood and not 
needing mention and her own confidence in the girl’s 
ability to carry out expressed wishes. But, it was also 
specified that if Alma did not see fit or for some reason 
was unwilling to carry out those plans, she was under 
no obligation to do so and her decision in no way 
affected legal right and title to the estate. 

The will was a complete surprise to Alma. Never in 
her wildest dreams had she thought of such a possibility 
as being remembered, much less being made heir. 

The magnitude of Queenie’s generosity overwhelmed 
her and the confidence displayed, humbled her. 

In the privacy of her room, she went down on her 
knees as she made a solemn promise to her God that 


112 


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with His help she would dedicate that entire bequest to 
the purpose Queenie so desired. 

In discussing matters with Mr. and Mrs. McDuff, she 
gained a new appreciation of Queenie. Mr. McDuff said 
he had volunteered his services when she had been in 
court over her benefactor’s will, not knowing her 
identity . . . then he had discovered that she was the 
supposedly dead daughter of a one-time neighbor. "I 
personally investigated the rumors circulated concern¬ 
ing her character,” he said, "and I am happy to say they 
were absolutely groundless.” 

"I’m so glad,” Alma cried. "People should be so care¬ 
ful about gossip, especially tales concerning another’s 
character. So much harm can be done so easily and 
besides, there are so many interesting, wonderful things 
to talk about. How any one can waste their time in the 
unnecessary repeating of sordid stories is beyond my 
comprehension, anyway.” 

"Well, her own friends loved her for herself, any¬ 
way, and very few who knew her ever believed the 
gossip.” Mrs. McDuff declared. "When it becomes 
known that she left a lot of money and that she was 
connected with a highly respected old family, those 
loudest in condemnation will be the first to boast of 
having known her.” 

"I don’t doubt that in the least,” Alma agreed. 

In time Mr. Coleman became reconciled to being an 
invalid. He said he was much more concerned over 
Alma’s future than he was worried over his own condi¬ 
tion. He did not intend to be idle, he declared. For a 
long time he had wanted to do some writing along 


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113 


political lines. Here was the opportunity . . . thrust 
upon him without his asking. 

He said the only thing he wanted was a good male 
companion . . . regardless of his religious belief, he 
must be a good Republican. This request amused them 
until they found out that he intended to write a 
history of that political party. 

Hillcrest had been vacant ever since Miss Lawrence’s 
departure for Kansas City, from whence she had not 
returned. 

The house which had recently been built especially 
for Miss Lawrence from plans of her own design, stood 
on a slight elevation in a large tract near the edge of 
town. The first time Alma saw the building she 
thought: 

“As Rome sat on seven hills and ruled the world.” 

Ever after that she mentally termed the place, “Rome 
Hill.” 

The house was of colonial style, stately, substantial 
and hospitable. Its rooms were spacious, with lofty ceil¬ 
ings, all comfortably and artistically furnished. 

Columns of glittering white extended from founda¬ 
tion to roof across the entire front and, in the yard, 
flanking a brick walk, stood two massive iron dogs. 

Alma couldn’t bear to think of others handling the 
objects Queenie had cherished. The piano skillfully 
and lovingly fingered, the books thoughtfully perused 
. . . they all loudly proclaimed the taste and refine¬ 
ment of the one who assembled them ... to her they 
were sacred. 


114 


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After long consideration, she decided to make her 
own home at Hillcrest. 

Everything arranged to everyone’s satisfaction, she 
turned her thoughts to work. First, she was going to 
locate that brother, if possible . . . then she would 
make plans for the fulfillment of Queenie’s dream. 

Advertisements were inserted in all state newspapers, 
soliciting information. Eagerly she awaited news, but 
none came. Apparently no one knew anything of Wil¬ 
liam Henry Lawrence, formerly of Tennessee. 

Politics was now the outstanding question of the 
day. Oklahoma was not allowed a vote in the 
national election, but that did not prevent a seething 
undercurrent of political propaganda. 

William McKinley of Ohio, a one-time close friend 
of Johnnie Coleman, was the most acceptable candi¬ 
date for the Republican party. 

From his wheel chair, assisted by his law student 
companion, Howard Gregg, Mr. Coleman directed an 
aggressive campaign. Thousands of letters were sent 
out to the states, marshaling the party’s strength to 
McKinley’s support. 

Following the campaign, the most intense since the 
Civil War, the Republican party returned to power, 
McKinley having swept the United States with a 
landslide. 

Mr. McKinley wrote Mr. Coleman a personal letter, 
thanking him for his efforts in his behalf. 

With the change in political power, without intend¬ 
ing to do so, Alma became a politician. She attended all 
important conferences and many leaders of political 


Pisces* Child 


115 


movements depended upon her judgment. She eventually 
grew to have a knowledge and understanding of the 
intricate workings of government machinery. 

It was evident to her that Congress was working to 
the dissolution of tribal governments, the extinguish¬ 
ment of communal or tribal titles to lands and the 
vesting of possession and title in severalty among the 
citizens of the various tribes by assimilation of the 
people and institutions of the Indian Territory to the 
prevailing American standard. 

It was also apparent to her, from her contacts with 
political leaders in the Territory and through her inti¬ 
mate knowledge of the Indians’ sentiments, the govern¬ 
ment was going to meet many obstacles in their 
objective. 

Charges were made and in part substantiated, that 
the Indians were unfairly dealt with: that some men 
entrusted with the equitable division of tribal estates, 
allowed their own selfish interests to guide their 
actions. 

Alexander McDuff was named by the government to 
investigate irregularities. He, feeling that Alma’s inti¬ 
mate knowledge of the Indians, would be a help to 
him, invited her to accompany him and Mrs. McDuff 
in an extended tour of the eastern part of the Territory. 
She gained first-hand information in this way, of the 
sinister undercurrent working against her old friends. 

Early one afternoon, Alma left the old tribal council 
house in one of the Indian Territory towns where she 
had been assisting Mr. McDuff look over some records, 
and strolling slowly along the street, returned to their 


116 


Pisces’ Child 


hotel. She did not see a person on the street whom she 
recognized; felt a little lonely. 

Finding Mrs. McDuff was out, she sat down in a 
secluded spot to await her return. She enjoyed watching 
crowds and often made a study of the different charac¬ 
ters represented, speculating upon their personalities. 

In quiet enjoyment of the ever-changing personnel 
of the room, Alma now felt as though she was being 
drawn by a magnet. Turning her head in answer to 
the compelling urge, she caught a glimpse of a man 
who seemed to be furtively watching her over the top 
of his newspaper. 

Though the man took instant refuge behind the 
paper, she’d seen a face that strangely interested and 
attracted her. Somehow—it seemed vaguely familiar. 

In this brilliant, sunshine-flooded room and among 
the crowds of well-dressed people, the man seemed as 
far removed from his proper environment as if he 
were Cuth-Ullin, sitting beside Tara’s walls, watching 
the ships of his enemy approach his rocky shores. 

His eyes were deep-set, large and dark as midnight. 
His cheek-bones, high and prominent, gave way in a 
smoky pallor to a square, clean-shaven chin. His brow 
was rugged and she fancied that the entire song of 
Solomon could be written on his fine, sensuous mouth. 

She played with the thought that he, too, was acting a 
part; that he was an ancient priest who for convenience 
sake only had changed his ragged skins for conven¬ 
tional tweeds. 

A group of new arrivals came between her and the 
interesting individual and when the space was once 


Pisces* Child 


117 


more clear, with regret, she saw that he was no longer 
there. 


CHAPTER X 


Alma and the McDuffs were guests that evening at a 
dinner given by one of the territory society matrons. 
A man outstanding in Indian Territory government 
affairs was also to be a guest, they had been informed. 

Entering the brilliantly lighted room, Alma im¬ 
mediately recognized him ... he was the interesting 
stranger concerning whose identity she had speculated 
that afternoon. Again her eyes met his, briefly, and 
again she had the baffling impression that they had 
previously met. 

At the table he was seated across from her, and a 
large floral centerpiece almost concealed his features. 
His every word, gesture and expression seemed 
familiar. She strained her ears to hear his voice. 

He, in turn, seemed attracted to her. More than 
once she felt his dark eyes fastened upon her. 

Once when she lightly touched her lips with the 
napkin, she saw him give a sudden start and turn very 
pale. He was evidently laboring under a strong emotion 
and when her eyes met his again, she fancied they held 
a questioning, half-suspicious expression in their depths. 

She felt her face grow hot for she was much embar¬ 
rassed; one of the few times that a man’s eyes had 
caused her that emotion. Had she been bold, she 
wondered, or had her interest been misconstrued? She 
hoped not, for suddenly she realized that she wanted 
that man’s good opinion ... his friendship. 

118 


Pisces’ Child 


119 


She forced her attention to the man at her side, 
listened to his uninteresting discourse, hardly hearing 
a word he said but making it seem that she was deeply 
interested. For the life of her, she could not have 
repeated a single word he said. 

After what seemed an interminable length of time, 
the dinner came to an end. The ladies withdrew, leaving 
the men to a last word of masculine gossip. 

A bevy of girls immediately surrounded Alma. Was 
it true, one of them asked, that she was an Indian 
Princess? 

Alma smiled: for a long time she had not even 
thought of that incident. But before she could answer, 
the deep, bell-like tones of a woman’s voice at the door, 
drew every one’s attention that way. 

A number of guests were entering the room; late 
arrivals, unexpected, too, it seemed. With her striking 
beauty and haughty imperious bearing, a lady with 
piercing dark eyes, commanded instant attention and 
admiration. Combined with satin the same shade and 
heavily trimmed with gold bead passementerie, her 
dress of ruby-red velvet served as a fitting frame for 
her voluptuous form. 

A new star, scintillating and magnetic, had arisen on 
the horizon, it seemed. Interest in Alma was forgotten 
and the girls flocked to the newcomer. 

Drifting with them to the lady’s side, Alma suddenly 
recognized her! Suspended from a thin gold chain 
circling her neck was a queer little ornament, set with 
a ruby of great beauty. Eleven years before, she had 


120 


Pisces' Child 


seen that same chain and ornament, hanging suspended 
around an outlaw queen’s throat! 

For an instant her eyes met those of the dark-eyed 
lady; for an instant recognition flashed in their depths, 
then their owner turned her back to Alma, making 
some low-toned remark to a blond, monocled, rather 
weak-appearing man at her side. 

The gentlemen came in from the dining-room just 
then and, in the confusion of their entrance, Alma 
drifted to the opposite side of the room, feeling that 
she had been snubbed by the ruby-clad lady. 

Now, she was not at all surprised when the man, her 
opposite at the table, came immediately to her side. 
Without any preamble he asked: 

"May I ask where you got the ring you are wearing?” 

"So that was it!” she thought, "and I thought he was 
attracted to me.” Aloud she said: 

"A friend gave it to me,” adding, "have you seen it 
before?” 

He ignored her question. Taking her hand in his 
he asked: "May I?” 

When his long fingers closed over her hand she felt 
as though she had come in contact with a live electric 
wire. An almost irresistible impulse came to her to 
run her fingers lightly through his heavy black hair 
only faintly streaked with grey. Satisfied with his 
inspection of the ring, the man dropped her hand, raised 
his head, and in his eyes she read an expression that 
made her think he, too, had passed through deep, dark 
waters. 

Again he asked, his voice low, repressed: 


Pisces’ Child 


121 


"Where did you get it?” 

Before Alma could answer, their hostess came 
bustling up, scolding: "Peter, don’t you think you are 
being selfish? We can’t allow you to monopolize Miss 
Coleman. Besides, don’t you think you should pay your 
respects to Lady Weatherby?” 

"It is not for me to make the advance there, I am 
sure you will agree with me in that. Besides, Sallie, I 
have important matters to discuss with Miss Coleman, 
and I am going to claim the privilege of an old friend 
by asking you to grant me that pleasure.” 

Alma felt that there was a hidden meaning in their 
seemingly innocent, but polite words. She didn’t bother 
her head as to what it was, however. 

After seating Alma in a secluded spot behind a large 
square piano and taking a chair by her side, the man 
again asked: "Now, will you tell me?” 

"Your name, I did not catch it before,” she parried, 
ignoring his request. 

"I am known as Peter Fletcher . . .” he answered 

proudly. 

"Peter Fletcher!” she repeated incredulously. Memory 
flashed to her of the dark man riding beside her father 
. . . of her father’s words, "governor of a powerful 
Indian Nation!” "Of course,” she thought, "how stupid 
of me . . . this is he.” Aloud she said: "Yes, I remember 
you now ... I am Moonflower . . . maybe you remem¬ 
ber me?” 

"Yes,” he softly answered ... "I recognized you this 
afternoon. Rather startling that we should meet again 


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this way.” His eyes turned to her hand upon which 
Queenie’s ring was worn, questioning: 

“It is a long story,” she suggested. 

“I understand,” he interrupted, “but may I ask . . . 
is she ... is the one to whom this one time belonged 
... is she living?” 

A flash of intuition came to Alma. The baffling sense 
of familiarity she had felt in Queenie was her resem¬ 
blance to the man who had so indelibly impressed him¬ 
self upon her subconsciousness that never-to-be-for¬ 
gotten day at the Trading Post. The resemblance she 
fancied she saw in the old General’s canvas face was 
the replica of that same face, dimly remembered. 

“The wheels of the gods grind exceedingly slow,” she 
murmured. “Your sister gave this ring to me. She never 
forgot you . . . never gave up hope but that some day 
she would find you. And to think, I held the connecting 
link! Oh . . . had I only known . . . Never once did I 
associate you with Queenie.” 

“Queenie,” he repeated. 

“My name for your sister,” Alma explained. “I could 
never call her Arabelle or Miss Lawrence.” Briefly then 
she told him of her friendship with his sister ... of her 
death . . . how she had accompanied the body to Tenn¬ 
essee. During her recital he sat with head bowed low— 
hands tightly clasped. His appearance was that of a man 
deeply moved. When she paused, hesitating for words 
with which to express her sympathy, he placed his hand 
over hers for an instant: 

“Thank you ... I feel that my sister at least was 
not without one true friend.” Then his voice broke: 


Pisces’ Child 


123 


"Oh, that I had known . . . and I thought her dead!” 

Memory came to Alma of the will’s proviso. 

"I am so glad we’ve found you,” she exclaimed 
heartily. "Now I can go ahead and carry out Queenie’s 
wishes.” 

"And that was?” he asked. 

She told him of the large estate left by his sister 
and also briefly touched upon the use she intended to put 
her share. She noticed that his face took on a hard 
expression and the thought came to her that he did not 
approve . . . did not understand. "I am not using any 
of the money myself,” she hastened to assure him. "You 
see ... I lost mother two years ago . . . our home . . . 
everything went . . . Father was terribly crippled . . . 
but I have money from a trust left me by Grandfather 
Sherman ... I don’t need Queenie’s money.” 

"Yes ... I recall that storm. I did not associate those 
Colemans with my Trading Post friends, however. I am 
sorry ... I admired your father very much. He was 
a real friend to the Indians. Too bad . . . too bad!” 

For some time in a vague way, Alma had been notic¬ 
ing that other guests had been casting amused glances 
in their way, but Mr. Fletcher had been so absorbed, 
he apparently had not seen them. Now, the crowd was 
breaking up . . . they could no longer talk undisturbed. 

"We’ll meet at the hotel later,” he declared in low 
tones as a group, laughing and talking, surrounded them. 

On the way to the hotel that night, the McDuffs 
teased Alma unmercifully upon her conquest. She 
laughed merrily. Then she told them the man’s real 
identity. Mr. McDuff was greatly elated. . . . 


124 


Pisces’ Child 


Mr. Fletcher was waiting at the hotel when they 
arrived and accompanied them to their rooms. 

Mr. McDuff told his part of the story, leaving out 
the unpleasant incidents. Then Alma gave additional 
light concerning her own association with Miss Law¬ 
rence. It was evident to them that Mr. Fletcher sensed 
some of the trials and troubles his sister had encountered. 

When there was nothing more they could tell him, 
when his many questions were answered to his satisfac¬ 
tion, he gave them the connecting links, they did not 
already know. 

When secession of the South was first being con¬ 
sidered, he said he had bitterly opposed the movement, 
feeling that it was not the right action to take. His 
father had been as anxious to withdraw from the Union 
as he had been to remain loyal. *T could not see the 
wisdom,” he explained, "in tearing down the very Union 
our forefathers died to form. Father was bitter ... he 
declared that no Lawrence could take up arms against 
the South which he placed above the United States. It 
was his god! I could not see his way . . . never did. 
I joined the Union Army. He was terribly angry . . . 
forbid my ever darkening his door . . . said he never 
wanted to see my face again and cursed the day I was 
born! Well ... I dropped the name Lawrence . . . took 
that of Fletcher, my mother’s name. I’ve borne it ever 
since. I’ll always keep it.” 

Briefly, he touched upon his life among the Indians. 
From his words they gathered that he had prospered, but 
underneath his statements lay the impression that he 
was not a happy man. 


Pisces 5 Child 


125 


"And have you no family?” motherly Mrs. McDuff 
wanted to know. 

Mr. Fletcher’s face lightened. One could read in his 
expression the pride he had in the son whom he said 
was his only child. "But,” he added, "he is much as 
I was at his age . . . venturesome . . . always looking for 
excitement . . . does not care for ordinary pursuits. 
What do you suppose his last stunt was?” Without 
waiting for them to answer, he continued, "Got 
appointed a United States Marshal and he’s after a band 
of outlaws . . . and I’ll just bet he gets them, too.” 

Then Alma told of having recognized Chris Mur- 
dough among the bank robbers. Mr. McDuff scolded 
her heartily for having kept that knowledge to herself 
for so long, but after a time admitted that she had pos¬ 
sibly been correct in her surmise that the robbery was 
no unexpected event. 

Mr. Fletcher listened to their conversation with inter¬ 
est .. . "I’ll tell Phil, the next time I see him.” 

"Phil,” Alma repeated. 

"Yes . . . He dropped his Indian name, taking the 
English translation instead. I think his mother’s people 
resented his doing that. You see, he is half Indian. His 
mother was an Indian . . .” adding softly . . . "One of 
the most noble characters that ever lived.” 

When Mr. McDuff brought up the subject of money, 
Mr. Fletcher paced the room excitedly. "I won’t take 
a cent of it!” He cried. "I don’t want it. He cast me 
off when I was a hot-headed youngster. . . Let it go to 
charity . . . give it away ... do what you please. 


126 


Pisces’ Child 


Besides,” he added, "I already have more than I know 
what to do with.” 

"Well, in that case, I guess Alma will have to assume 
the responsibility of the estate,” Mr. McDuff observed. 

"Eh? What’s that?” Fletcher demanded, pausing in 
his wild pacing of the floor. 

Patiently Mr. McDuff explained how Alma would 
be forced to assume the responsibility of General 
Lawrence’s estate with his own refusal to do so. 

"That’s just what I want her to do!” he declared, add¬ 
ing, "and for every dollar coming to her that way, I’ll 
match it with one of my own. She can carry out all 
of Belle’s wishes in that event.” 

"O—O—O,” Alma cried, clapping her hands ex¬ 
citedly. "I’ve just thought of the most wonderful plan. 
We'll take The Beeches and convert it into a girls* 
retreat. We'll call it the Belle Lawrence Memorial Home. 
Won't that just be wonderful?” Then she added 
thoughtfully: "And that will settle the question as to 
what to do with that place!” 

Next day, sitting by the window of a slowly moving 
train, Alma’s eyes idly followed the turbulent waters 
of the Arkansas River as they rolled and tossed, some¬ 
times even lapping the railroad track. 

She and the McDuffs were en route home, Mr. Mc- 
Duff’s investigations being completed. 

Before any of the passengers knew just what was 
taking place, a masked man was standing at each end 
of the coach, a wicked looking gun in his hand. 

Alma immediately grasped their significance. Slip¬ 
ping the rings from her fingers, she dropped them into 


Pisces* Child 


127 


the upholstry of the seat. Loss of the money in her 
purse did not bother her. 

One man stood at the end of the coach facing the 
passengers, his gun pointed down the aisle. To Alma 
it looked like a cannon and she thought it was pointing 
directly at her. The other man went down the aisle, 
methodically gathering up purses, rings, and other 
valuables. His gruff "Shell out!” usually brought forth 
hastily concealed articles; he seemed to know when 
valuables were being held out. 

With his coming to her seat, Alma felt that she, too, 
would have to produce her rings, but the man merely 
leaned over, saying: 

"And so ... we meet again!” 

Alma glanced up, catching the gleam of cold-blue- 
grey eyes and a tiny nicked right ear. 

"Yes,” she retorted. "This seems to be quite a habit 
of your's.” 

He laughed . . . low, mirthlessly. "Vindictive as 
usual,” he observed. "Well ... I should worry. . . .” He 
went on down the aisle, failing to take anything from 
Alma. 

Shouts came from the direction of the engine, closely 
followed by several shots in rapid succession. The two 
men in the coach moved without opposition. Each man 
seemed to know what to do and did it. Their work was 
soon finished and they prepared to leave the coach, but 
at the door a surprise in the shape of a grim-faced man 
also holding a gun, met them. 

A nervous man sitting behind Alma giggled as he 
observed. "Looks like we'd run into a young war!” 


128 


Pisces* Child 


With the officer’s command "Hands up!” one outlaw 
obeyed, but the other moved as though he was going 
to draw his gun. There was an instant flash, a sharp 
report and a dazed expression swept over his face as he 
slowly crumpled up, slid down onto the floor and lay 
ominously quiet. 

No one knew how he managed, but in some un¬ 
accountable manner, in that one second of confusion 
following the officer’s shot, it was found when the smoke 
cleared away, the other outlaw had escaped! 

The dead outlaw did not have red hair, Alma noticed 
with regret. Neither was there any nick in his right ear. 

In front of the engine, tracks were torn up. In the 
rear, a bridge was burning, clear proof that the outlaws 
did not intend for their victims to escape. The train 
was marooned on the banks of the rapidly rising river. 

With the assurance that there was no longer any need 
of caution, passengers swarmed from the coaches and, 
with their assistance, trainmen temporarily repaired 
the track sufficiently to allow the train to proceed 
slowly over the damaged section. After considerable 
delay, the journey was resumed. 

Trainmen admitted that a trap had been laid for 
the outlaws. A supposedly large shipment of currency 
was being transported by the express company, but the 
box in reality held iron slugs. Armed representatives 
of the law rode in each coach, in the engine and express 
car. Some one had either tipped off the outlaws or a slip 
had been made, for before they were entirely sur¬ 
rounded, they beat a hasty retreat, leaving behind them 
only dead men to tell tales. 


Pisces’ Child 


129 


Of the officers, two had been slightly wounded, but 
five outlaws would commit no more crime. 

One of the officers injured had been riding in the 
express car. A bullet from an outlaw gun hit the steel 
safe in the car, ricocheted and struck him in the head. 
He had suffered a slight scalp wound which had knocked 
him senseless for an instant. Humiliated at being injured 
in such a manner, he had not even mentioned being 
hurt, but blood on his face betrayed the fact. 

One of the train men mentioned casually that he was 
the son of a prominent Indian Territory man . . . Phil 
Fletcher ... a young United States Marshal. 

The attempted hold-up received scant attention from 
the public, for the United States Battleship "Maine” had 
just been blown up in the harbor of Havana, supposedly 
by agents of Spain! Now war with that country was 
inevitable! 

In April, the United States demanded the withdrawal 
of Spanish troops from Cuba. The demand was refused 
and war was immediately declared! 

At the dinner table one evening, Howard Gregg told 
how favorably impressed he had been with a young man 
who had made a talk on one of the downtown street 
corners that morning. 

"He had a most striking personality . . . wonderful 
. . . magnetic,” he said. "Even though I knew I could 
not pass the requirements, I wanted to enlist. Drat my 
lungs, anyway . . . always keeping me from doing any 
thing big!” 

"What was his subject?” Alma asked absent-mind¬ 
edly. Cracker box orators were every day occurrence. 


130 


Pisces* Child 


He was soliciting volunteers for a company to join 
Teddy Roosevelt’s Rough Riders,” Gregg answered. "I 
never saw men respond as they did. In less than thirty 
minutes he had more than the required number and 
I have an idea that a second company will be enlisted 
before morning.” 

"I wish I had known,” Alma said regretfully. "I 
walked two blocks out of my way to avoid that crowd!” 

"Too bad,” Gregg agreed. "I forgot to say that the 
man was one of the United States Marshals that figured 
in that hold-up of your train!” 


CHAPTER XI 


The entire town turned out en masse to wish "The 
Volunteers,” good luck and to tell them good-bye. Flags 
floated from every conceivable place and every one 
united to send them off with a wham! 

Alma stood by her father’s wheel chair, pointing out 
to him the people she knew. Her heart swelled with 
pride as she saw the colors coming down the street. 

Bells rang . . . whistles shrieked . . . people shouted 
as The Volunteers came into sight, preceded by the 
band boys playing spirited martial music. They were 
a wondrous sight . . . riding proudly erect . . . stalwart 
. . . clear-eyed . . . unafraid; willing to give their lives 
if need be, to help free a down-trodden, oppressed 
people. 

Alma’s entire attention was centered upon a dark¬ 
eyed young man riding a superb black horse. 

Her thoughts raced backward: again she was a child 
at the old Trading Post. Again she sat in a live-oak tree 
while this same dark-eyed young man, then hardly 
more than a boy, stood below, quoting Longfellow. It 
was all clear to her. Phil Lawrence, grandson of General 
Eliheu Lawrence, Queenie’s nephew, Peter Fletcher’s son, 
the Indian woman’s babe, whichever character one 
wished to connect him by one or all, he was destined 
to occupy a large portion of her romantic dreams. 

But . . . not a glance did he cast in her direction. 
If he saw her at all, he did not betray the fact. 

m 


132 


Pisces’ Child 


Each day following The Volunteers’ departure, Alma 
scanned the papers for news of them. Her heart thrilled 
with pride in their glories. 

Then the war ended . . . the boys came home ... all 
but the dark-eyed young man who had achieved dis¬ 
tinctive honors, it seemed. He, it was stated, had gone 
to the Philippines in command of a regiment in the 
regular army, hostilities having broke out there. 

Peter Fletcher seemed to find it convenient to come 
to Hillcrest frequently. On one of his visits his atten¬ 
tion was attracted to Alma’s silver bowl. He seemed 
much interested in the crest engraved upon its side, 
remarking that if he was not mistaken, it was very 
similar to one that had been handed down from genera¬ 
tion to generation of his Indian wife’s family. Alma was 
much interested in his statement but not sufficiently 
so to make an effort to verify his suspicion. She did tell 
him all the details of her own family’s French connec¬ 
tion, however. 

With acquaintance, Alma became quite fond of the 
eccentric Peter Fletcher. Restoration of The Beeches 
was progressing rapidly, according to reports sent in by 
Howard Gregg, he having taken that matter in hand. 
Mr. Fletcher entered into all of Alma’s plans for the 
Belle Lawrence Memorial Home and gave her many 
helpful suggestions. 

Quite by accident, Alma learned that her father was 
much concerned over her own disincliation to marry. 
One rainy afternoon she was sitting beside him read¬ 
ing aloud; she thought he had dropped off to sleep and, 
lowering the book, she allowed her thoughts to wildly 


Pisces* Child 


133 


roam . . . then she was startled by his sudden question: 

"Alma ... do you ever think of getting married?” 

She was too surprised to immediately answer ... he 
continued . . . "Do you realize that your mother had 
been my wife for several years when she was your 
present age?” 

"Yes,” Alma admitted . . . "but Mother married 
rather young, didn’t she? Let me see . . . twenty, not 
quite, wasn’t she?” 

"That’s not answering my question,” he complained. 
To escape his searching eyes, she had moved over to 
a window. 

"Come back here,” he commanded. "I want to talk 
to you, young lady, and I can’t be shouting at your 
back. Now, look me in the eye and tell me the truth, 
daughter . . . are you happy?” 

Tears came into her eyes; she laughed a quivering 
little laugh: "Bless your dear heart, father!” she ex¬ 
claimed. "I am as happy as is possible for one to be. My 
only sorrow is that mother did not live to enjoy all this 
comfort.” 

"That’s just it,” her father passionately declared. "I 
should have been the one to go. I am keeping you from 
living life as it should be lived! You should marry! 
That’s the only normal life for a girl . . . love . . . 
marriage . . . children! Those are the important issues 
to be considered. Surely, you are not deluding yourself 
with the belief that political life can make up to you 
for a husband and children?” 

Then, as memory of how he had for a time failed 
to love and cherish the woman who had given up 


134 


Pisces’ Child 


a brilliant career for love of him came, his voice broke. 

*‘1 know I’m not the one to tell you what to do, but 
Alma, with all my faults, and they were many, your 
mother loved me and was happy as my wife.” 

"Yes,” Alma agreed: "You are right. Mother did 
love you. She would not have changed her life one 
particle had she had that privilege.” 

"That’s just what I’m trying to tell you, girl! That’s 
what a woman’s created for. I want you to be happy. 
Forget me! Isn’t there someone for whom you care?” 

She hesitated, memory darting to a dark, somber face, 
a sturdy, erect, blue-clad figure she had last seen 
mounted on a proudly stepping horse, marching to the 
strains of martial music. Dark eyes that she felt could 
glow with passion and melt with tenderness. A tingling, 
tightening sensation welled up in her heart that broke 
its bounds to spread over her body and grip her throat. 
She felt her face grow hot . . . then she grew cold. 
Something had come to her realization too sacred for 
her to discuss with any one. 

She felt her father’s keen eyes upon her. Her own 
gaze faltered . . . then she answered: 

"No, father. There is no one in my life such as you 
feature. My Prince Charming has yet to make himself 
known to me.” 

To herself she mentally added: "At least I am being 
truthful. He has yet to come to me \” 

On one of his visits, Peter Fletcher remarked upon 
the great need he saw for a sanatorium. One, he said, 
where the person with little or no money could get the 


Pisces’ Child 


135 


care and attention he required. His observance gave 
Alma an idea. 

She visited several modern, up-to-date institutions 
of that nature; conferred with building contractors, 
held long discussions with Mr. McDuff; figured incomes, 
estimated costs. Then she announced that she was going 
to construct a great sanatorium on the site where one 
time her home had stood. It was to be a joint memorial 
to her mother and Arabelle Lawrence. A training school 
would be maintained in connection with the sanatorium, 
making it possible for girls to learn the profession of 
nursing. 

When local people learned of her intentions, they 
besieged her with overtures of help. Civic organizations 
begged for the privilege of furnishing rooms: society 
leaders sponsored a grand ball to which prominent 
parties from all over the state were invited. The new 
sanatorium was the most discussed topic of the time. 

Alma and Peter Fletcher led the grand march that 
formally opened the ball. The Territorial Governor and 
Mrs. McDuff were directly behind them, then Mr. Mc¬ 
Duff and the Governor’s wife. 

Interspersed with the beautiful evening-gowned 
matrons and their formal black-clad, dignified escorts, 
were men and women from every walk of life . . . even 
the cowboy with his inevitable boots. For the sake of 
the ladies’ dainty dresses, spurs were temporarily laid 
aside. 

Alma was dressed all in black. Soft lace over a foun¬ 
dation of black satin. The dress fitted her slender form 
perfectly and a single yellow rose nestled in her neatly 


136 


Pisces* Child 


coiled brown hair. Its counterpart lay among the laces 
on her bosom. From the folds of web-like black, her 
shoulders and arms glistened like marble statuary. 

At the conclusion of the march, before the couples 
swung off in a waltz to the strains of “Over the Ocean 
Wave,” the Governor stepped out of the line and held 
up his hand. Everyone became quiet. The music stopped. 

“It is befitting,” he said, “that we pause to give honor 
to the ones responsible for the enterprise so worthy our 
celebration. Only characters of great nobility would, 
or could, conceive so great an undertaking and one 
so everlasting of benefit to humanity, the providing of 
an institution for the care of our suffering fellowman. 
Folk . . . you need no introduction to our own Alma 
Coleman. Many of you no doubt also know her com¬ 
panion in the enterprise as well as partner here . . . 
Peter Fletcher of the Indian Territory. Would that he 
were a citizen of Oklahoma Territory instead!” 

Alma could only stand speechless as the entire throng 
cheered. Mr. Fletcher was accustomed to applause and 
was not embarrassed. Briefly he thanked the assembly, 
adding as he glanced into Alma’s pale face . . . “Maybe 
Miss Coleman will speak for herself.” 

Smiling but with tears in her eyes, Alma glanced 
first at the man standing so proudly at her side, then 
turned to the Governor, thanking him for his words. 
Turning then to face the crowd, she told them it was 
not she that had made the hospital possible. 

“It was a former townswoman of our own,” she 
said. Her voice rang clear as a bell as she told them of 
the woman who, in loving kindness for humanity and 


Pisces* Child 


137 


unselfishness of spirit, had made the project possible. 
“I am but the humble instrument of her benevolence: 
Arabelle Lawrence, the one we all knew as “Queenie,” 
was the one you should have honored, not me.” 

For an instant there was an intense silence. As a party 
afterwards said: “You could have heard a pin drop.** 
Then a deafening cheer broke out. 

Alma circled the room in Fletcher’s arms. She was 
trembling so she could hardly keep step with the music 
and it took all of her self-control to repress her tears. 

“Buck up, Alma,” her companion whispered. “Every¬ 
thing’s going to be all right.” 

It was impossible for her to enter into the spirit of 
revelry, however. She felt indignant when she recalled 
how shabbily Queenie had been treated by some of the 
very ones now the loudest in her praise. “What hypo¬ 
crites . . . what hypocrites . . .” she thought. “Just be¬ 
cause you left a lot of money ... I don’t see how they 
can do it!” 

On the day that the proof of Mr. Coleman’s book 
arrived for his approval, he appeared to be feeling much 
better than he had of late. He chatted all morning with 
Alma, telling her of his plan to start another work as 
soon as Howard Gregg returned from Tennessee. 

Then, in the early afternoon, he said he was tired; 
thought he would take a nap, but first he’d like some 
music. 

Opening the piano, Alma asked: 

“What would you like, father?” She knew, without 
asking, what his answer would be. 

“If you don’t mind, daughter,” he suggested, “I’d 


138 


Pisces* Child 


like for you to sing that song your mother so loved. 
I never get tired of it!” 

"All right, father,” she answered bravely. Even yet, 
those words brought poignant memories, as she softly 
sang: 

"Not now but in the coming years, 

It may be in the better land, 

We’ll read the meaning of our tears, 

And there sometime, we’ll understand.” 

"Yes, there, sometime we’ll understand,” she heard 
him slowly repeat. 

She drifted into some old refrains . . . songs she knew 
her father loved, softly singing snatches of their 
melodies. She noticed the tense expression on his face 
relax . . . the tight grasp of his hands release and his 
eyes close. Softly she played on, improvising weird 
Indian melodies, in a minor key. 

She was lost in dreamy music when Mr. McDuff 
entered the room and quietly came to the piano. 

"That’s something new, isn’t it? Don’t believe I’ve 
ever heard it before.” 

"Why, I don’t know. I don’t even know what I was 
playing. I hope I have not disturbed father,” she ex¬ 
claimed, glancing anxiously toward the recumbent 
figure. Something in his appearance struck her heart 
with a sudden chill. He was so quiet ... so ominously, 
lifelessly quiet! Realization came . . . now she was alone. 

Again Alma found that there was no kind interval 
of time in the setting of life’s drama. For her there was 
no heart-easing period of days. 


Pisces* Child 


139 


She felt that she was life’s "galley slave,” that she was 
shackled to a relentless master. Regardless of the fact 
that her last blow had come at four o’clock, she found 
that she must live through the hours of five, six, seven 
and on through the entire dark, agonizing night. . . . 
On into the pale, torturing dawn ... on through the 
endless first day and through others that closely 
followed. 

It had been over fifteen years since Alma had seen her 
Indiana kin-folk. With reproach she recalled the spacious 
old home, Maplecrest, and in retrospect she again went 
down the shady lane, bordered with giant maples. 

In fancy she sat in the carriage, waiting while fare¬ 
wells were spoken as, impatient in the delay, her long 
legs were dangled against the carriage seat. She recalled 
the enthusiasm with which she had approached the 
Trading Post. Then with another qualm of self-reproach 
she thought: "Thirteen years since I have seen that 
place.” Dreams made there, she realized, had almost 
been forgotten. 

It was now the year nineteen-two. She was close onto 
being an old maid, for she was twenty-seven years of 
age! 

She had been so busy of late, outlining the policy for 
the Arabelle Lawrence Home and getting details for the 
formal opening of Memorial Sanatorium worked out, 
she’d had no time for other matters. 

During this time, President McKinley had been 
assassinated! Alma had been a warm admirer of Mc¬ 
Kinley and had been profoundly impressed with his 
broad views. His death caused her genuine regret. 


140 


Pisces* Child 


Now . . . she was mentally and physically exhausted. 

She realized that she must do as Queenie one time 
said she did; get away by herself . . . get a grip upon 
herself or else she’d go all to pieces. 

Dr. Kibbie advised her to take a long rest. Go away. 
Visit places never before seen, among people whom she 
did not know. The idea appealed to her. 

Peter Fletcher had often invited her to visit his part 
of the Territory and, when he was told of Dr. Kibbie’s 
advice, heartily endorsed the plan. 

He told her of the wonderful mineral water so abun¬ 
dantly gushing from the hills there. Water that was 
carrying health to thousands of people seeking relief 
in its sparkling medical content. Here . . . among the 
visitors, she could pass many days, quietly unrecognized. 
But he cautioned her, her name would betray her 
identity. He suggested that she use that of her mother 
instead. 


f 


CHAPTER XII 


It was a glorious autumn day. One of those rare, mild, 
languorous days, with a haze in the air, found only in 
Indian Summer. 

Leaves on the giant cottonwood, pecan and elm trees 
overshadowing the highway, were already touched with 
autumnal gold and crimson. High on the crest of a 
large hill, in stark silhouette against the clear blue sky, 
stood a large tree. As the coach in which Alma rode, 
wound around the hills, approaching the little town to 
which Peter Fletcher had directed her, she noticed it in 
particular. 

Treaties famous in the history of Indian Territory 
had been consummated in the great old elm’s shade. 
Protected by its overhanging branches was Fletcher’s 
Indian wife’s grave. 

With sight of the tree standing proudly aloof, re¬ 
splendent in its autumnal glory, Alma shivered though 
she was far from being cold. A queer feeling came to 
her . . . portentious! 

Then the honking of brant-geese flying in V-shaped 
formation, high above her head, came to her ears above 
the "clump, clump,” of horses, trotting briskly over 
the hard clay road. The sound reminded her that winter 
was approaching. Bob-whites from the underbrush 
along the road, whistled to each other and larks, swing¬ 
ing on barbwire fences, seemed to be discussing the 
advisability of their soon migrating. 


141 


142 


Pisces’ Child 


Arriving at the hotel, Alma signed the register and 
followed a porter carrying her bags, to the room pre¬ 
viously engaged by Peter Fletcher for one "Alma Sher¬ 
man of St. Louis,” a reported writer, seeking material 
for a novel. 

That night Alma slept the entire night through undis¬ 
turbed by dreams—something she had not done for 
a long time. 

Breakfast over, early next morning she decided upon 
a long walk. Following a path that wended its way 
between huge slabs of granite jutting from the ground 
in symmetrical lines, she came to the bank of a small 
stream that flowed swiftly between overhanging trees 
of enormous size. 

Great shelving slabs of the same blue-grey granite 
hung far over the river and stones, protruding from the 
water at regular intervals, made convenient stepping- 
stones for crossing the stream. 

From Mr. Fletcher’s description of the spot, she knew 
that this was the old Trysting Ground of a one-time 
powerful Indian tribe. Tradition was that young maid¬ 
ens and Indian braves would meet here to woo and be 
wooed, while their chiefs and headmen were engaged 
near by in pow-wows or tribal councils. 

But, he had explained, it was considered beneath the 
dignity of a chieftain’s daughter or the son of a chief 
to woo or be wooed in the same manner other Indians 
employed. That the Great Spirit would send them 
directly to their mate, was their belief, no effort on 
their own part ever being thought necessary or dignified. 

Now . . . Alma fancied that shy-eyed, dusky maidens 


Pisces* Child 


143 


were peeping at her from the shelter of surrounding 
cliffs, speculating upon her presence in their precincts. 

Crossing the stream, she settled herself upon a slab 
of granite with her back against a tree and gave herself 
up to dreams. She tried to visualize scenes she felt had 
one time been enacted here. She imagined herself as an 
Indian maid, waiting there to be wooed by a dark- 
skinned, young brave, but the peaceful quiet of the 
secluded spot, no sound coming to her ears but the 
musical trickle of water falling over near-by rocks, 
soothed her tortured nerves. She found she could not 
concentrate even on day-dreams. Her eyes closed and 
she went to sleep. 

In her dreams a Prince Charming did come to her 
side to drop onto his knees and whisper thrilling words 
into her ears. She drank them in as a thirsty plant would 
absorb rain-drops. 

Body quivering with the ecstasy of his presence, she 
raised her arms to encircle a dark head bent in adora¬ 
tion over her . . . then the feel of cold lips upon her 
face awoke her. 

A massive black dog was standing before her, his 
tail wagging in friendly fashion, his great eyes fixed 
upon her face, a mute question in their depths. 

Laughing merrily, Alma patted his shaggy head. "So 
you are my Prince, are you?” . . . she asked. 

The dog barked, gravely lifting a paw in greeting. 

Then a shrill whistle sounded on the air. The dog but 
barked the louder, unwilling, it seemed, to leave the side 
of his newly-found friend. 

A man came into view, riding a magnificent black 


144 


Pisces’ Child 


horse. He was following a path on the opposite side of 
the river. Seeing Alma, he slid from his horse’s back, 
crossed the stream and, hat in hand, came to her side. 

”1 hope that you have not been disturbed by my 
dog,” he said. "Come here, Nero, you rascal,” he added 
in affectionate tones. 

Alma thrilled to the deep sound of his voice. The last 
time she had heard them, she had been seated precari¬ 
ously in the crook of a live-oak limb. She assured him 
that she had not been disturbed in the least, adding, C, I 
love dogs!” 

He in turn explained that he was surprised that Nero‘ 
had deserted him for he was usually a faithful com¬ 
panion. "I must say that he has more sense than I had 
accredited him with having, though,” he declared, 
glancing with admiring eyes at Alma. 

She felt her face grow hot, but the man seemed so 
unaware that he had paid her a direct compliment, she 
soon regained her composure. 

In a friendly, courteous manner, the stranger com¬ 
mented on the beauty of the spot, drawing from her 
the fact that she was a first-time visitor. 

Her eyes kept drifting to the horse standing near by. 
As if reading her thoughts, the man asked: 

“Do you ride?” 

She admitted that she did. 

“Would you like to ride Satan?” he asked. 

“She hesitated . . . trying to still the tumult in her 
heart. He did not seem to recognize her, she wondered 
whether or not she should make her identity known, 
deciding to not do so. He misconstrued her silence. 


Pisces’ Child 


145 


"I beg your pardon/* he said. "I forgot that you are 
a stranger. My name is Fletcher . . . Phil Fletcher.** 

In a flash she understood ... he had not recognized 
her at all. "My name is Sherman/* she said demurely, 
"Alma Sherman.** She gave him a searching look to see 
whether or not the name meant anything to him. Decid¬ 
ing that it evidently did not, that he had accepted her 
as she represented herself to be. 

Regardless of their unconventional meeting, she felt 
in perfect accord with the man. He, in turn, seemed to 
enjoy her company. Seating himself near by, he told her 
that he had but recently returned to the vicinity after 
a long absence in foreign countries, explaining that he 
was disinclined to settle down or remain long in any 
one place. 

"There surely must be a touch of Ishmael in my 
blood/* he confided. "I can’t even understand myself! 
When far from this section, my heart fairly yearns to 
return. Then when I get here, I can hardly endure the 
eternal, peaceful, monotony. Recently, while I was in 
India, I was haunted with the feeling that some one was 
calling me, urging my immediate return. Even now, I 
can feel eyes upon me, eyes reproaching me for having 
failed to carry on the traditions of my race. You see/* 
his voice filled with unconscious pride, "This is my 
native Stomp Ground. I was born in the valley beyond 
those hills. My mother was an Indian chieftain’s daugh¬ 
ter. She died when I was born. They tell me that I am 
very much like her!** 

Again he stood before her, hat in hand. She noticed 


146 


Pisces* Child 


that his hair was much more gray than was that of his 
father. He appeared older, too. 

‘Til be on my way now,” he said. “May I say that 
I hope we will meet again . . . soon?” 

Her eyes followed him as he rode away . . . then with 
a reflective sigh, she settled back in the seat and gave 
herself up to dreams ... “I wonder,” she murmured 
dreamily . . . “an Indian princess* son ... an adopted 
Indian princess . . . has the Great Spirit guided us here 
for some purpose of his own . . . are the gods being 
kind to me at last?” 

In the days that followed their meeting, Alma spent 
many hours in the company of Phil Fletcher. While he 
rode Satan, she rode Selim, a black beauty brother of 
Phil’s mount. Together they wandered over the hills 
and valleys of his native land. At other times they would 
sit quietly at the base of the old historic elm near his 
mother’s grave and she listened while he told her the 
legends and traditions of his mother’s race. 

On one of their excursions, they came near the refuge 
to which Joe Carter had taken Mrs. Coleman and Alma 
during the storm as they were en route to the Trading 
Post years before. 

On the hilltop overlooking the spot, Phil stopped his 
horse. Silently he sat and gazed with reminiscent eyes 
toward the desolated old home. 

“If those crumbling walls could but speak,” he said, 
“what interesting tales they could tell!” 

“A building deserted, neglected as that one is, it is 
a pathetic object, I think,” Alma observed. “It strikes 
me much the same way that a body does after the soul 


Pisces* Child 


147 


has taken its flight.” Then a sudden thought came to 
her as she noticed his reverent gaze: 

"Are you by chance, related to the family that one 
time lived here?” she asked. 

Phil turned to her with surprise in his eyes . . . "Why, 
yes,” he said, "I thought you knew . . . my maternal 
grandfather was born within those walls.” 

With her exclamation of interest, he further ex¬ 
plained: 

"Tradition is, about the time of the Revolutionary 
War’s commencement, the younger son of an old French 
nobleman, as punishment for his having been involved 
in some plot against the Crown, was exiled from France. 
His sympathy being with the oppressed colonists, he 
furtively slipped into America and took up arms in 
their behalf. At the close of the war, so the story is told, 
he settled in what is now the state of Florida. Here he 
married into a prominent Indian tribe and, to all out¬ 
ward appearance, he, too, became an Indian. But, the 
story is also told, in spite of his allegiance to them, 
a lingering regret was in his heart for the land of his 
birth. His children were educated; the customs and tra¬ 
ditions of France were carefully and thoroughly instilled 
in their minds and they grew up more as white men and 
women than red. 

"History repeated itself. With his wife and children, 
the now recognized leader of the little band, was forced 
to leave that southern sanctuary. Over trails almost 
impassable, after untold suffering, the few who sur¬ 
vived that heartbreaking trek, came to this valley and 
another home was established. French customs, so care- 


148 


Pisces’ Child 


fully instilled from childhood, prevailed even here in 
the wilderness. Much as a feudal lord the exiled French¬ 
man ruled his family and subjects. They obeyed him and 
prospered. As a reminder to them that in his veins ran 
the blood of royalty, over the door of this new home 
was engraved the Coat-of-Arms, of the family who 
no longer acknowledged him. That’s all that’s left now 
of that one-time grandeur ... a faded, scarcely noticed 
engraving over a doorway through whose portals only 
memories pass.” 

An impulse came to Alma to tell Phil that she, too, 
was of French descent, then came the thought . . . “He 
may think me presumptuous . . . then, too ... I will 
have to explain that I am not Alma Sherman.” For some 
unexplainable reason, she did not want to do this, so 
remained silent on the subject. 

After a few casual comments upon the panorama 
spread out before them, Alma suggested that it was 
time they were moving on. 

At no time did Alma divulge to Phil that she knew 
his father. She did not understand her disinclination 
to have him know, but felt that so long as he had failed 
to recognize her, no harm was being done. 

Neither by spoken word nor act did Phil give Alma 
any intimation that he looked upon their association as 
anything more than a pleasant chance acquaintance, 
until late one evening, the protecting wall of reserve 
that she had builded up to curb her impulsive emotions, 
was completely broken down. 

They were crossing the park over a rough path when 
she stumbled: to keep from falling, she caught at his 


Pisces* Child 


149 


arm. Then . . . before either one of them knew how or 
in what way it happened, she was tightly clasped in his 
arms. She could feel the wild throbbing of his heart; 
could feel his body trembling! Lifting her face to the 
compelling urge of his lips, she mutely surrendered to 
their claim. 

For an instant she lay, feeling that her very life was 
being drawn from her body and through his lips merged 
into his. No words were spoken ... in silence she lay, 
heart beating in unison with his; she was content! 

Then Phil’s arms let go their hold. With a groan as of 
despair, he left her standing stunned, intoxicated, trying 
to control the tumult in her heart ... a feeling of wild, 
passionate happiness. 

Before she hardly realized that he had left her, he was 
back: "Forgive me, Alma,” he begged. "I did not real¬ 
ize .. . I’m sorry. I never intended to let you know!” 

She wondered why he was sorry—what need he had 
for apology. She loved him and, in her heart, she knew 
he loved her . . . what else mattered? 

Silently he guided her across the patio. At the door 
he left her with only a strong pressure of the hand and 
a deep lingering look into her eyes that spoke volumes 
of emotion. His lips moved soundlessly and she fancied 
he was saying: "Goodbye, my darling!” 

For hours she lay awake thinking of Phil; recalling 
the deep tones of his voice. When she finally went to 
sleep it was to the accompaniment of joy bells in her 
heart ringing: they seemed to say: "We understand, we 
understand! Nothing else is of importance.” 

No friendly voice of warning came in the night to 


150 


Pisces* Child 


prepare Alma for the announcement early the next 
morning that Phil Fletcher had suddenly gone away. 
Without a word of farewell, completely ignoring the 
incident of the previous evening, he had gone. 

For her, the sunshine was blotted out. As a wounded 
animal, she sought the solitude of her room. Hours were 
spent in weeping. Her body was torn with a despair 
from which she could see no escape. 

She was deeply humiliated. She had misconstrued the 
light in Phil Fletcher’s eyes for something different than 
he had intended and he, to save her mortification and 
distress, had taken refuge in flight. 

She realized that she had given her love unasked, 
unsought, even though she tried to make herself believe 
that she had not been mistaken. 

Time for her, passed on leaden wings. Each morning 
brought the thought, “Maybe 1*11 hear from Phil today. 
Maybe he’ll come back today.” Each night but added 
to her growing conviction that she would never see 
him again. 

Trying to forget, trying to ease the terrible pain 
in her heart, Alma threw herself into every hectic 
amusement that offered an outlet to her pent-up feel¬ 
ings, She became one of the gayest of the gay throng 
flocking to the resort. She danced until she was ready to 
drop from exhaustion and flirted outrageously at every 
opportunity. 

But, she soon wearied of this endless, meaningless 
round of pleasure. She wanted to be alone. 

Slipping away one bright sunshiny morning, she 
followed the path that led to the Try sting Ground. 


Pisces* Child 


m 


She was absorbed in her own thoughts and did not 
notice a dark, ominous cloud spread itself rapidly 
across the sky. She didn’t realize that a storm was almost 
upon her, until a sharp clap of thunder sounded directly 
over her head. 

Running rapidly, she sought refuge under the over¬ 
hanging rocks from whose shelter she watched deluges 
of rain fall. Oblique streaks of lightning shot across and 
through the heavy clouds. Thunder rolled and rumbled 
until it seemed the very cliffs would be jarred loose from 
their foundations. Big trees, whipped and lashed by the 
wind’s fury, were torn from the mountain side by their 
roots and flung crashing to the valley below. 

Then almost as suddenly as it had come, the storm 
passed. The clouds rolled away and the sun came out, 
causing a prismatic hued rainbow to appear across the 
distant sky. 

Alma stood gazing with reverent eyes upon this re¬ 
minder of God’s covenant with humanity. Humbled in 
spirit, feeling her own impotence and the utter folly 
of her rebellion against fate, she turned to retrace her 
steps and came face to face with Phil. 

His face was pale, his eyes were tortured. She thought 
he had aged years in the few days since she had last 
seen him . . . her heart filled with pity for him. 

Silently they stood, looking deep into each other’s 
eyes; each reading the soul of the other, then without 
a word he opened his arms and, with a sobbing cry, she 
went to him. Tightly he held her clasped to his breast. 
She could hear his heart’s tumultuous beating against 


152 


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her own. Then gently loosening her clinging arms, he 
guided her to a near-by seat. 

In a daze she heard him say he had failed in his 
mission. Vaguely she realized that he was referring 
to a letter ... a letter that she had never seen. Her heart 
died within her . . . she sat staring into his eyes, trying 
to understand; hoping she’d soon awake and find it was 
all just a horrid nightmare. 

But ... his words coming to her as from a great 
distance, convinced her she was not dreaming. Some¬ 
thing . . . some ceremony had been legal ... he could 
not make her his wife! 

Strength came to her with his wild abandon to 
despair. As he flung himself to the ground at her feet, 
burying his face in her lap while deep sobs tore his 
body, she became calm. 

‘'Listen, Phil,” she said, lifting his head, compelling 
him to meet her eyes. "I didn’t get any letter ... I 
thought you had left me ... I thought you didn’t love 
me ... I nearly died!” 

Then, still clasping his head to her bosom, she listened 
while he told in a calm, dead tone, how years before he 
had thoughtlessly taken part in a ceremony in which 
he went through a form of marriage with an Indian 
maiden. How she had been stricken with a mysterious 
malady soon thereafter. How, long after that supposedly 
innocent ceremony, he had learned to his surprise and 
consternation, it had been legal according to the laws 
of his Indian Nation. How he was married to a hope¬ 
lessly incurable imbecile! According to the laws of his 


Pisces* Child 


153 


people, that marriage could never be dissolved while she 
was in her present condition. 

“O . . . that’s not right,” Alma cried passionately . . . 
“You should not be forced to sacrifice your life . . . 
your happiness . . . my happiness! It can’t be. There 
must be some way!” 

“No ... I have exhausted every possibility. So long 
as she lives, I am legally bound. God! Had I dreamed. 
I would rather have died than to have caused you one 
minute of sorrow. When I met you here . . . the Try st¬ 
ing Ground of my ancestors, I felt that the Great Spirit 
had sent you directly to me. It was ordained! But we 
must part. I love you too much ... I can’t be honest. . . 
my manhood forbids my being otherwise!” 

When realization finally came to Alma that she could 
not be his wife . . . when he convinced her that he 
would take her on no other terms, she felt that she 
could no longer live. 

Feeling that she was bidding farewell to a loved one 
no longer alive, she lifted his head, gazed long into his 
eyes, then reverently kissed his forehead. “Leave me 
now, Phil,” she whispered. “Leave me while I have 
the strength to see you go.” 

With his going, it seemed that something went out 
of her life to never return. The brightness left the sky 
. . . even the birds no longer sang and the music of 
running water she no longer heard. 

She could never remember how she got back to the 
hotel. All that night she paced her room, fighting the 
fight of her life. With the first faint streaks of day 


154 


Pisces’ Child 


spreading across the sky, she dropped into a chair, 
exhausted. 

A pencil caught her eye as it lay beside some papers 
on the desk. Absent-mindedly she picked it up: 

"Thou cans’t not forget me, Phil," she whispered, 
"even though my love you resign!” 

Then her fingers raced across the page . . . line after 
line she dashed off. After her agony of soul was put 
onto the paper, she felt better. Pausing, she re-read the 
lines: 

"I know that my love thou wilt seek to resign, 

Though unable to promise again, 

Thou wilt sigh for the heart that is now linked to thine, 
As the flower is linked to its stem. 

For the love that is held in the beauty of trust, 

Cannot pass as the foam from the seas; 

Or the mark that the finger hath made in the dust, 
When swept by the breath of the breeze. 


"Thou cans’t not forget me, for mem’ry wilt fling, 
Her light over Lethe’s dark sea; 

Wherever thou roamest a something will cling 
To thy bosom that whispers of me. 

Tho’ the chords of thy spirit I no more may sweep. 
Of my touch they’ll retain a soft thrill, 

Like the low undertone of the murmuring deep, 
When the storm that once stirred it is still. 


Pisces’ Child 


155 


“Thou cans’t not forget me; too long hast thou flung, 
Thy spirit’s soft pinions o’er mine; 

Too sweet was the promise that on my lips hung, 

As they softly responded to thine. 

In the dusk of the twilight, beneath the dim sky, 

My presence will mantle thy soul; 

In mem’ry of all thou hast spoken and felt, 

Thy love for me will never die.” 


“Why, that’s beautiful,” she murmured; “I wonder 
how I did it!” Then she wondered if her experience was 
to broaden her viewpoint. If it would result in the 
development of a heretofore unknown talent. With this 
thought in mind, she went to sleep and drifted into 
dreamland. 

A soft-voiced, sympathetic-eyed lady came to her 
side and tenderly stroked her forehead, driving away 
her pain, lulling her into forgetfulness. A face almost 
forgotten, leaned over and wiped away her tears. She 
awoke, feeling that her Aunt Bet must surely be in 
the room. 

Her dream haunted her. Suddenly she decided that 
she wanted Aunt Bet! With the thought a telegram was 
written begging her to come. . . . 


CHAPTER XIII 


With her telegram’s going, Alma decided she’d go back 
home. No longer could she stay in the place sacred to 
her memories of Phil. 

En route home, she speculated upon her Aunt’s appear¬ 
ance. Memory was rather vague. Someone always trot¬ 
ting around after people, picking up the things they 
carelessly left out of their proper place, but whom she 
knew from experience, could tie up a little girl’s cuts 
and soothe her bruises efficiently. And though she no 
longer burned her fingers or bumped her head as she 
had done as a child, in her heart she felt that it would 
be a comfort to have some one bind up her cuts and 
heal the bruises gained from her close contact with life’s 
sharp edge. To have some one lovingly wipe away her 
tears. Something she had not had done since her mother’s 
going. 

She was in a fever of impatience previous to Aunt 
Bet’s arrival. "Surely” she thought, "somewhere in 
Oklahoma is a Joshua commanding time to stand still. 
Never did it move so slowly.” 

But at last the great day came. When the train came 
to a grinding, groaning stop, Alma was standing on the 
platform, eagerly scanning the face of every woman 
as she descended from the train. Not one did she see 
that in any way resembled the Aunt of her memory. 

She was turning away, disappointed, positive that 
156 


Pisces* Child 


157 


in some way Aunt Bet had been delayed. Then she was 
halted by a pleasant voice at her side: 

“Alma, don’t you know me?” 

With incredulous eyes, unable for a time to speak, 
Alma stared at a fascinating woman. It couldn’t be . . . 
why, Aunt Bet was an old woman . . . this could not 
be she! 

The lady smiled. Alma recognized that smile. Rapidly 
she computed the years, wondering how she had got 
the idea that Aunt Bet was old . . . she was only fifty! 
Her face, framed with soft, white hair, was softened and 
refined by time and the dainty dress of soft grey crepe, 
made her seem as a piece of precious Dresden china. 

With a cry of joy, Alma opened her arms and they 
were clasped tightly to each other, their tears of happi¬ 
ness mingling. 

Aunt Bet immediately fitted herself into Alma’s life 
as well as that of her friends. They all adored her; came 
to her with their problems. She never failed to give them 
sympathetic attention and kindly counsel. 

Hillcrest became even more popular with the Aunt’s 
coming. It had already been looked upon as the real 
center of Territory political life. Politicians came here 
to discuss their problems, secure in privacy—assured 
a hearty welcome. It was here that serious-minded men 
and women discussed the many angles to be considered 
in the soon-to-be state’s formation. 

Alma was an interested and intelligent part in these 
discussions. Aunt Bet a silent but sympathetic audience. 
Both ladies were in constant touch with territorial as 
well as national movements. Alma’s finger rested inti- 


158 


Pisces* Child 


mately upon the pulse of government life. She under¬ 
stood the current’s trend beneath the surface of all 
government activities, in many instances, helped to 
direct its course. 

Peter Fletcher was a constant visitor at Hillcrest. 
He, in company with men and women prominent in the 
history of the now united territories, were assembled 
at Hillcrest, waiting news of President Roosevelt’s 
signature being officially affixed to the proclamation 
declaring Oklahoma a state! 

When the news came hurtling over the wire that 
he had completed the transaction, that seventeen years 
constant effort had culminated in a new star being added 
to the nation’s flag, whistles began to blow and bells to 
ring. The first shrill blast proclaiming that his dream 
was now a reality, a man in that assembly, a devout as 
well as influential political leader, sprung to his feet. 
With one accord all there followed his example. Heads 
bowed reverently they stood while he voiced a brief 
plea that the Supreme Ruler of the Universe would for¬ 
ever bless the people now united under one head . . . one 
interest, one name, OKLAHOMA. 

News of the proclamation being signed was received 
with great demonstrations of enthusiasm by citizens 
of the new state. 

Crowds assembled before the library and a copy of 
the proclamation issued by President Roosevelt was 
heard read. The formal announcement of the creation 
of the state was received with the utmost good will. 
Then a prominent man of a neighboring city was intro¬ 
duced and who, it was said, would propose marriage 


Pisces* Child 


159 


on behalf of Mr. Oklahoma to Miss Indian Territory. 
(Taken from files of Oklahoma State Capitol news¬ 
paper.) 

"The bridegroom,’ not one whit abashed, took his 
place in the center of the platform and began his 
abbreviated wooing with a knowing nod in the direction 
of the spectators. 

" *1 have been asked,’ he said, 'to perform the agree¬ 
able duty of proposing the marriage of Oklahoma to the 
Indian Territory. Permit me to say that nothing gives 
me greater pleasure, as the President advises us in his 
proclamation that the marriage will be strictly legal, 
without regard to age, condition or previous servitude. 
The bridegroom is only eighteen years old, but is capable 
of assuming all the matrimonial responsibilities of a 
stalwart youth. Though he was born in trouble, in 
tribulation, his eighteen years on the plains have been 
years of tremendous activity, and he has grown to the 
size of a giant. Like every well-regulated masculine 
individual, he has grown tired of being alone, though 
he is fairly capable of taking care of himself. Strange 
to say, on account of his youth and inexperience, he is 
possessed of an unconquerable modesty and he has 
asked me to propose marriage with the Indian Territory. 

" 'Out of sympathy for the young bachelor, I now 
propose to the Indian Territory, who I am assured is 
matrimonially inclined, that the proposal be accepted, 
and that the union be consummated here and now. It 
should be understood, however, that nothing should 
be said about the age of the bride. It is a case when 
youth and age are to be blended together in harmonious 


160 


Pisces’ Child 


union, and that under the constitution and laws a 
divorce can never be granted. This is not exactly a case 
of love at first sight. A lady by the name of Sequoyah 
at one time interfered with the courtship and at first 
tried to break up the match. But having failed to do so, 
and tired of the loneliness of single blessedness, she 
gracefully surrendered to the inevitable and has ever 
since been in favor of the marriage. 

" 'By the authority vested in me by the high con¬ 
tracting parties, and in obedience to their request, I 
now call upon Rev. W. H. Dodson, of the First Baptist 
Church, to perform the marriage ceremony.* 

"The formal acceptance of Mr. Oklahoma’s offer of 
marriage was made by a full-blood Indian: 

" 'To you, the representative of Mr. Oklahoma, I pre¬ 
sent the hand and the fortune of Miss Indian Territory, 
convinced by his eighteen years of persistent wooing 
that his love is genuine, his suit sincere and his purpose 
most honorable. With pride and pleasure I present to 
him Miss Indian Territory, who was reared as a political 
orphan, tutored by federal office holders and controlled 
by an indifferent guardian residing a thousand miles 
from her habitation. 

" 'Despite these unhappy circumstances of her youth, 
which have cast a shade of sorrow over a face by nature 
intended to give back only the smiles of God’s pure 
sunshine, this beautious maiden will come to him as the 
last descendant of the proudest race that ever trod foot 
on American soil; a race whose sons have never bowed 
their necks to the heel of the oppressor; the original 
occupants of the American continent. 


Pisces* Child 


161 


" ‘Although an orphan. Miss Indian Territory brings 
to her spouse a dower that in fertile fields, productive 
mines and sterling, upright citizenship, equals the 
fortune of her wooer. To Oklahoma, into whose identity 
Indian Territory is about to be merged forever, must 
be intrusted the care of this princely estate. We resign 
it to you freely in the confident hope that it will be well 
cared for, developed and conserved to the unending 
glory of our new state and untold benefit of her people. 

" ‘Oklahoma, your wooing has been long and per¬ 
sistent. For eighteen weary years you have sought the 
hand of our fair maiden in wedlock. If the object of 
your suit has at times seemed indifferent, believe it to 
have been but evidence of a maiden’s proper modesty, 
and not a shrinking from the union. 

** ‘In winning the hand, you take the heart. Your 
bride comes to you without coercion or persuasion, as 
the loving maiden confidently places her hand in that 
of the husband of her choice. The love she bears for 
you, as the love you feel for her, arises from kindred 
interests, mutual aspirations and an unbounded faith 
and admiration, one for the other.* 

“Until she stepped to the front to accept the hand 
of her finance the identity of the bride was known to 
but few. . . . 

“She came slowly forward to the front of the plat¬ 
form as the crowd gallantly shouted in acknowledg¬ 
ment. Smiling and bowing again and again.” 

Then a fervent prayer was offered and the formal 
marriage of the “Twin Territories” was consummated. 

In the beginning of the nineteenth century, the re- 


162 


Pisces’ Child 


strictions of state and territorial government and the 
settled occupations of white men, constrained the Indians 
in the exercise of all their nomadic habits and customs. 
That such constraint should be disposed of and that 
a country should be set aside where they were to dwell 
and be able to work out their own destiny, was the 
policy adopted by the government. This policy con¬ 
tinued practically without change until the close of the 
Civil War. 

A delegation of Indians went to Washington about 
that time, who protested against their confinement 
within the limits of the white man’s government. In the 
negotiations that followed, may be found the practical 
origin of Indian Territory as a country entirely separate 
from state and territorial jurisdiction and subject only 
to federal regulations. 

In all the efforts before the Civil War, for the organ¬ 
ization of a territorial government, there was not, so far 
as is known, any definite plan for the ultimate attain¬ 
ment of anything more than an Indian commonwealth 
where the various tribes would continue preponderant, 
both in population and in ownership of property and 
civic control. 

The act providing for the removal of this restriction 
upon the lands of part-blood Indians, was approved 
by the president in nineteen-eight and it stipulated that 
all lands, including homesteads of said allottees enrolled 
as inter-married whites, as freedmen and as mixed blood 
Indians having less than half Indian blood, including 
minors, should be free from all restrictions. 

A kindly critic, following the fortunes of the Indians, 


Pisces’ Child 


163 


may see how "grafters” were enabled to take advantage 
of the Indians. They can see the enormous difficulty that 
beset the government at this time, in its faithful admin¬ 
istration of Indian affairs. 

Peter Fletcher declared that this tendency of moral 
laxness following statehood must be purged away from 
the state in the same way they had attempted to rid 
themselves of the criminal element that had come as 
a heritage of the old regime. 

Thousands of acres were expected to change hands 
early in the morning following the date of final removal 
of restrictions. Land buyers made no effort to conceal 
their unprincipled desire to gain possession of valuable 
lands, either by fair means or foul. 

Alma learned that moneyed interests were causing 
the arrest of numerous illiterate, half-breeds, on various 
spurious complaints. That they had been put in jail, 
helpless in their ignorance, subject to agreement to sell 
their lands at a fraction of their real value! 

From what she could learn, one man’s brain directed 
this wholesale robbery, for robbery was all it could be 
called. From gathered bits of information she fancied 
that she knew his identity. 

Again, coming to her in a dream, she heard a voice of 
warning. It seemed that Old Sugar was speaking, telling 
how "The Boy Who Looks Two Ways” would do the 
Indians much harm! Again she was impressed with the 
imperative need for her to act in their behalf! 

Feeling the sacredness of the obligation Sugar had 
imposed upon her when she was still a child, Alma im- 


164 


Pisces’ Child 


mediately made plans to circumvent his plans if Chris 
was responsible. 

In the early campaign for separate statehood, when 
the constitution for the proposed "State of Sequoyah,” 
was being drafted, Alma had attended some of the com¬ 
mittee meetings in the old log tribal council house 
located in one of the eastern territorial towns. 

She had not been there since. This was now the 
center of the "grafters* ’* activities. 

Without delay, she hastened to the Indians’ defense. 
Arriving there, the first person she saw was No-ka- 
wa-ta, the Indian who had stood sponsor for her own 
adoption into their tribe. 

Tweeds had replaced his traditional buckskins and 
his head, remembered as always having been bare, now 
graced an unmistakable John B. Stetson of enormous 
size. 

When she observed the neat boots on his feet, she 
recalled the intricate bead embroidery she had so often 
admired on the moccasins he one time wore. 

Came a whimsical thought: 

"Oceans of water has passed beneath the bridge of my 
life since that memorable time. Would that I were back 
a child again, as happy . . . carefree as then!” 

She laughed in amusement at the very thought. "I 
suppose every woman approaching the meridian of life 
as I now am, has often expressed that identical wish!” 

Time had dealt kindly with her Indian friend, she 
noticed. His body was as erect, his eyes as keen as they 
had been the last time they met. 

She judged from his actions. No-ka-wa-ta was ex- 


Pisces* Child 


165 


pecting her. Stepping to her side and taking the bag she 
carried into his hand, he bridged the eighteen years 
of separation with a brief, "How are you? Glad to see 
you,” much as though no more than that number of 
days had elapsed. 

Without suggestion from either one, they turned their 
steps toward the new brick and stone structure that had 
recently replaced the old log building within whose 
walls many transactions had been enacted that had 
influenced and helped to make history of a great com¬ 
monwealth. 

Arriving at the government building, they entered 
a room where many old tribal chiefs and other Indians 
prominent in various tribes that had made up one time 
Indian Territory, were assembled in silent anxiety. 

Alma recognized several as old-time friends. They all 
rose to their feet upon her entrance, with greetings of 
"How! How!” Only the gleam in their eyes betrayed 
the pleasure they felt in her presence. 

A few wore traditional garments . . . others were con¬ 
ventionally clothed, but they were all united in purpose. 

"It is well! The Princes Moonflower has come!” One 
taciturn, grim-faced old chief declared in deep guttural 
tones, as though he felt her coming would solve all 
their difficulties. 

"Many moons have worn themselves away in their 
passing across the sky since she left her people. The 
Great Father has taken our lands from us ... he has 
sold the graves of our fathers and they have been torn 
up by the white man’s plow. They have driven the 
buffalo and deer from our hunting grounds and there 


166 


Pisces’ Child 


is no longer a means for us to exist except by the sweat 
of our brows. . . . Now . . . even that means is being 
stolen from us! Soon we will be helpless, with no liveli¬ 
hood left; no home of our own; no place left to lay our 
weary bones when our spirit takes its flight to the 
Happy Hunting Ground! Moonflower,” he turned to 
her, his gnarled old hands outstretched in supplication, 
his voice trembling . . . "you must help us!” 

Alma was deeply touched, but felt so helpless. After 
asking them numerous questions, her suspicions were 
strengthened. She decided to go to their congressman. 
He would understand: he would help, for he was an 
Indian. One time she had heard him declare that he had 
consecrated himself to their service. 

But as she left the building she came face to face 
with another man whom she immediately recognized. 
His face recalled many unpleasant memories, for he had 
hair a peculiar shade of red and a small nick was to be 
seen in his right ear. 

Imperceptibly almost, the man paused, then went on, 
only a slight twitching of his eyes indicated that she 
had been recognized. 

"Chris is responsible,” she thought. She decided that 
she would force his hand, unmask his dual personality. 
Here was another of Old Sugar’s prophesies in the ful¬ 
fillment. 

It was impossible for Alma to tell friend from foe. 
Chris, she found, was high in the confidence of state 
officials and more than likely, she decided, they were 
involved in the “ring” also. There was only one person 
to whom she could go and be reasonably sure of action. 


Pisces* Child 


167 


It was an impressive, auspicious occasion when Alma, 
in company with three dignified, stern-faced old In¬ 
dians, each wearing traditional tribal costume, entered 
the presence of the National Executive. 

Alma had dressed especially for the occasion. She wore 
a soft white doe-skin garment, beaded and fringed 
elaborately. Her hair, held in place by a small beaded 
band circling her forehead, hung in two long braids 
and dainty beaded moccasins were upon her feet. 

They were extended the utmost courtesy and, after 
the customary greetings, she began her story. With 
almost her first words, the President raised his hand: 

"Wait a minute,” he said. Touching a button on his 
desk he explained. "I want my secretary to hear this.” 
With that man’s entrance, she was told to proceed and, 
from then on, uninterrupted attention was given her. 

At the conclusion of her story, the President assured 
her that immediate steps would be taken through un¬ 
questionable channels to protect the Indians’ interests. 

Before they returned to Oklahoma, Alma learned 
that government investigations were under way that 
threatened to land some of that state’s outstanding men 
in federal prison on account of their implication in an 
unsavory abuse of government confidence. 

The ringleader of this group was found to be a one¬ 
time active member of a notorious outlaw band! 

Posing as a respectable business man of impeccable 
character, Chris Murdough had been prominent in 
church and social activities in his home city. His wife 
was recognized as one of the leaders in the eastern por¬ 
tion of the state’s proud society. 


168 


Pisces* Child 


And then it was found that he had also been guilty 
of murder in more than one instance during his outlaw 
career and it was suspected that he was directly or in¬ 
directly, responsible for the death of several well-to-do 
but illiterate Indians, by means of which he had come 
into possession of their property. 

Public opinion was that Murdough, with other promi¬ 
nent men, would spend the remainder of his life in a 
federal prison. But . . . Murdough thought otherwise. 

Close upon the discovery of his dual character, he 
killed himself, thus cheating justice of her dues . . . 
escaping his earthly punishment. 


CHAPTER XIV 


For the first time in her life, Alma sympathized with 
and appreciated the cowardly coyote. Humble though 
he was, he enjoyed privileges denied her for he could 
point his nose at the moon and howl to his heart’s con¬ 
tent, thus giving an outlet to his pent-up feelings. But, 
were she to do that, and the feeling was sometimes 
almost too strong for her to resist, certain well-inten¬ 
tioned individuals would hustle her off to some place 
for safe-keeping, questioning her sanity. 

Following her return from Washington, she was again 
physically and mentally exhausted. As Aunt Bet ex¬ 
plained to Dr. Kibbie, “She’s just gone all to pieces!” 

She wanted to slip away alone, far from the haunts 
of man, to perhaps some grassy, shady river bank where 
she could lie with her face buried in cool damp mosses 
and cry . . . cry and cry. Not loudly . . . but softly. 
No sound to disturb her emotions but the tinkle of 
water running over rocks as it wended its way to the 
sea. Cry for dreams unrealized. Cry for her mother and 
her father. Cry for Phil and for everything else in life 
that had disappointed her. 

But before she could more than half way plan such 
a diversion, a new excitement entered her life. 

From the time that Andrew Jackson and his con¬ 
temporaries took the first steps toward the banishment 
of the Indians from their comfortable homes in Ala¬ 
bama, Georgia and Florida, to an unknown, unchar- 
169 


170 


Pisces* Child 


tered section lying somewhere west beyond their "Father 
of Waters,” it seemed that they were but the pawn 
played carelessly by fate in the game of life. 

In all the annals of history there is no more tragic 
story of woe and suffering recorded than was theirs 
on this memorable migration over the trail which will 
forever bear the reproach and serve as a constant re¬ 
minder of the white man’s injustice to their race, "The 
Trail of Tears.” 

That the region to which they were banished would 
become rich beyond the comprehension of man, was an 
undreamed of possibility; and that the despised and 
sometimes abused Indian would eventually become the 
wealthiest race of people in the United States if not of 
the world, was too wild a fantasy for the human mind 
to conceive, but such was the case. 

The rock-ribbed, barren cliffs overlooking and 
bordering the Cimarron River, New-sew-ket-onga, as 
the Indians called that pecuilar, treacherous stream, had 
been endowed with all the gifts within the power of 
a generous and all-wise nature to bestow. This appar¬ 
ently worthless land all belonged to Indians or other 
individuals in some way affiliated with their race. 

Words are without the power to describe the wealth 
that gushed out of the earth’s depths with the release 
of Mother Nature’s pent-up and long treasured energies. 

Here a fluid wealth was unlocked and made to pour 
out in a stream of ever-increasing value which even the 
dreams of Coronado’s army, with all their vision of 
immense wealth and fond hope of uncovering the mines 
which furnished Aladdin’s gold, had not yet visualized. 


Pisces* Child 


171 


Men fought each other and even died in their effort 
to gain possession of so much as a toe-hold in the oil 
fields and almost fabulous prices were paid for small 
acreage. 

At the instigation of lease-mad representatives of 
petroleum interests, eager to first locate owners of vari¬ 
ous unleased tracts, an army of employees worked fever¬ 
ishly night and da*y. Poring over old documents, check¬ 
ing up court records, they were ever alert to find a flaw 
whereby some coveted small tract of land could be 
secured. 

In going over the records, it was found that one of 
the choicest tracts of land in the entire mid-continent 
oil field, belonged to one Alma Coleman . . . the land 
was unleased! 

Alma had never been in the oil fields. All her knowl¬ 
edge of that industry had been gleaned from reading 
or from conversation with those familiar with its 
development. 

She had been very curious as to the workings of the 
petroleum industry and ever since the well on the old 
Trading Post site had "blown” itself in, an immense 
gusher, she had planned on visiting the oil fields. But 
. . . first one thing and then another prevented her 
doing so. Now, she was determined to personally investi¬ 
gate the possibilities of her own allotment. 

With her arrival at the end of the railroad, Alma 
almost wished that she had listened to Aunt Bet’s advice, 
waited for some one to go with her. She was filled with 
additional dismay when she tried to find a conveyance 
to take her out to the field. 


172 


Pisces’ Child 


Never before had she seen such a crowd. There was 
no regard for sex either, she found. It was not that men 
were not courteous: they had no time to give any one 
precedence. 

Finally ... in consideration of five dollars an hour, 
she secured a “jitney.” The driver was rather young but 
very sophisticated, she found. 

She had a qualm of doubt as to the wisdom of her 
bargain when she viewed his "car,” but being in a 
charitable frame of mind, decided to take a chance. 

The boy proved to be an excellent driver. He darted 
in and out, threading his way through long lines of 
wagons and trucks all loaded with oil-field parapher¬ 
nalia, all going in the same direction. 

A cloud of dust hanging over the highway, made 
Alma think of the cloud by which the Israelites were 
guided to the promised land. Now she wondered whether 
the thick red pall would change to a pillar of fire with 
the coming of night. 

"Just the sort of boy I’d like to have for a son,” Alma 
thought as she took stock of her driver’s sturdy body 
and clear-cut, clean features; particularly noticing his 
deep blue eyes, so candid and honest in their appraisal 
of her. The freckles on his slightly up-turned nose were 
adorable, she thought. 

The boy knew the oil field and the oil industry, she 
found. This was explained by his telling her how his 
father had been one of the first men to work in the 
field. She also learned that his name was Keen. 

"Keen,” she repeated . . . the name had a familiar 
ring. Then, as a scroll unrolling before her eyes, she saw 


Pisces* Child 


173 


a dilapidated old covered wagon with the words: "This 
is us by Jiggers; Jed Keen his wife and kid!” printed 
on its side. 

"Are you Jed Keen’s son?” she asked. 

"Yes . . . I’m young Jed, all right,” the lad answered, 
looking at her with surprised eyes. "Did you know 
him?” 

"No” she answered, "but I’ve heard of him.” 

A sudden whim induced her to tell the boy that her 
own name was Sherman and to allow him to think she 
was a possible investor with a few hundred dollars, 
eager to make a stake. 

Young Jed kept up a continual chatter, seemingly 
under the impression that he must entertain his pass¬ 
enger as well as furnish her transportation. She found 
that he was ambitious and suspected that he had the 
"oil game fever” as well. 

During his conversation he made a statement that he 
would give "his very eye balls” to find the owner of 
"Mystery Lease.” 

"Why the appellation ‘Mystery?’ ” she asked. 

He looked at her, a doubtful expression on his face: 

"What’s that?” he asked. 

She laughed: "I forgot,” she apologized. "I mean why 
the name ‘Mystery?’ ” 

His face cleared as a summer’s sky following sudden 
shower. "Oh,” he exclaimed. "I thought you was just 
making fun of me. You see there’s so much mystery 
about that Indian girl that a piece of land belongs to. 
I thought I’d found her once. Gee! You just ought to see 
the swell joint I got into. The sweetest old lady lived 


174 


Pisces* Child 


there. She asked me to stay and eat dinner with her and 
it was already most dark. Just think! Me stay all night 
there! Well ... I didn’t have to be knocked down to 
know I’d got into the wrong pew.” 

Alma laughed heartily at Jed’s description of Aunt 
Bet. She recalled her telling how disappointed a boy had 
been in not finding an Indian living at Hillcrest. Now 
she realized that it had been herself he was seeking. 

"And what would you have done if you had found 
the Indian girl?” she asked. 

"Done?” he repeated in surprised question. "Didn’t 
I tell you that everybody is after her lease ... I’d have 
leased that land or knowed the reason why.” 

"With so many after it, as you say, don’t you think 
you would possibly have had a rather hard time doing 
that?” she asked, adding, "but maybe you have some 
plan in mind.” 

"I have,” he admitted: "I’m going to marry her!” 

Alma almost fell off the seat, she was so surprised. By 
much effort she controlled her inclination to laugh and 
asked: "But isn’t she a lot older than you?” 

"Oh, yes, I suppose she is, but that wouldn’t make any 
difference to me. Lots of men have married Indian girls 
for their money, you know,” he explained earnestly. 

"You adorable little egotist,” Alma murmured. "How 
old are you, anyway?” 

"Seventeen,” he said, asking in turn, "Why?” 

"Well, you are so sure of yourself. I fancy that you’ve 
had a lot of experience with girls . . . possibly already 
been married a number of times. But, what would you 
do in case the girl would not marry you? Girls are rather 


Pisces* Child 


175 


queer in that way some times, you know,” she explained. 

"Oh, she’d marry me all right for you see she’s an old 
maid ...” he hesitated, seeming to study the question 
for a bit. "But if she wouldn’t, I guess I’d just kidnap 
her and make her do it!” 

"Gracious me!” Alma exclaimed in mock alarm. "Are 
you in the habit of kidnaping helpless ladies and making 
them marry you?” 

"Now you are making fun of me,” the boy declared. 

"No, I am not. . . really, Jed,” she retorted. A sudden 
impulse struck her. "Listen, Jed. What would you say 
were I to tell you that I know that girl? That I have 
control of the lease you refer to myself?” 

Jed stopped his car, letting it die with a spasmodic 
gasp. "What would I say?” he demanded, turning 
amazed eyes to her: "Well, I’d say you must think I’m 
a bigger fool than I am if you think I’d believe you.” 

"But I do, Jed ... I can get the lease for you, if you 
want it.” 

"Well, you just help me to get it and I won’t charge 
you one cent for this ride!” he declared, adding, "Why, 
it’s worth millions: Millions, I tell you!” 

"That’s certainly being generous?” she agreed. "But 
suppose we just go into partnership: drill our own 
well?” 

"Huh!” he exclaimed. "Do you have any idea how 
much it costs to drill a well? Why, you and me put 
together couldn’t buy the smoke for one boiler, much 
less drill one!” 

"We can try,” she suggested hopefully, eager to lead 
him on. She had not so enjoyed herself for years. "We’ll 


176 


Pisces’ Child 


call it the Mystery Oil Development Company! The 
‘Mystery* will be, where is the money to come from. 
That part of the deal will be my business. You will be 
my scout . . . watch development for me and keep me 
informed all the time. . . . How does the idea appeal 
to you?** With his not answering, she added: “We’ll go 
fifty-fifty on the lease,” she explained. 

“Say . . . Who do you think you are? J. Rockefeller 
Gould, or are you just plum nuts?** he demanded. As 
though disgusted with her pretentions, he climbed out 
and cranked his car. It would not start. 

His efforts were in vain; his car absolutely refused 
to move. He seemed terribly humiliated, but after a time 
admitted there was nothing more he could do. 

An obliging teamster, seeing their plight, offered to 
tow them back to town in consideration of ten dollars, 
which Alma agreed to pay with their arrival there. 
Slowly they retraced the route they had come. On the 
way, Alma finally convinced Jed that she was not mis¬ 
representing matters, that she could make good her, 
as he thought, wild promises. 

During her recital of plans, he sat, a dazed expression 
on his face which finally began to twitch as great tears 
chased each other down his cheeks. “I wish you*d pinch 
me,** he stuttered. “I just know I’m dreaming. Such luck 
can’t be mine!” 

She assured him that he was not dreaming. “1*11 go 
back home and get the papers all fixed up,” she ex¬ 
plained . . . “get a power of attorney from the owner 
so we can operate without any difficulty. In the mean¬ 
time, I want you to look up a good drilling contractor. 


Pisces’ Child 


177 


You’ll go on a salary of course, for you won’t have time 
to run a service car now. ... I expect you better have 
a new car, too ... we can’t be bothered by one that is 
temperamental, you understand.” 

On her way home she studied over the matter, 
wondering how she could get around Mr. McDuff’s 
opposition . . . for he would oppose it, she was sure. 

But she was much mistaken. Mr. McDuff most heart¬ 
ily approved of her plan for development, although he 
did insist that she was being too generous with the boy. 
But, he admitted, it was her concern . . . the lease was 
her own, she had no one dependent upon her and if she 
wanted to give it all to him, it was her business and 
pleasure. He asked, however, that he be allowed to 
share in the expense ... be given a small share in the 
enterprise. 

Before they were more than started on their plans, 
Peter Fletcher arrived on one of his ever increasingly 
frequent visits. He, too, heartily endorsed Alma’s plan, 
smiling indulgently in her enthusiasm and description 
of Jed. 

"We’!! not only develop,” he declared, "but we’ll keep 
our company a close merger!” 

Asked to explain himself, he said they’d limit the 
company to five. 

"You as original land owner, Alma: your boy friend 
in whom you are so interested, he will be the sentimental 
adjunct, of course. McDuff ... he can furnish the legal 
brains for our company. I’ll furnish the capital.” 

"But, Peter,” Aunt Bet spoke up, "You said five . . . 
that’s only four . . . who will be your fifth member?” 


178 


Pisces* Child 


The look he gave her was to Alma a revelation. Now 
she understood the attraction Hillcrest held for Peter 
Fletcher. A stab of pain entered her heart. She knew 
it was only a matter of time until she would be alone 
again. 

Mr. Fletcher went to Aunt Bet’s side and gallantly 
extended his hand as he made a deep curtsy. "You, 
my dear,” he said: "you are the fifth member of our 
company . . . you will furnish us with romance.” 

He leaned over, whispering briefly in her ear . . . she 
blushed furiously, then nodded as she glanced up at him, 
meeting his eyes fixed with anxious pleading upon 
her face. 

Alma caught their glances and her own heart filled 
with additional pain. Their expressions were so eloquent. 
Aunt Bet’s eyes held a light in them that was never 
found on land nor sea. 

Fletcher’s voice trembled with emotion. "My friends,” 
he said, "this is one of the happiest days of my life. I 
want you to all share in my happiness and, may I say, 
Bet’s happiness, too, for she has consented to share the 
remainder of my life. We have so little time to spare . . . 
in pity of my loneliness she has granted my plea. God 
has been good to me. My two prayers are being 
answered: Phil’s coming home and tonight, I claim my 
wife!” 

His words, "Phil’s coming home,” rang through 
Alma’s ears all evening. She never knew how she made 
the simple arrangements for the quiet ceremony that 
immediately followed the assembling of a few intimate 
friends. 


Pisces* Child 


179 


With her silvery hair coiled on top of her head, Aunt 
Bet was lovely in lavender and lace. Her eyes shone with 
a happy light, her face was diffused with modest blushes 
as she entered the room on Mr. McDuff’s arm and took 
her place by Peter Fletcher’s side. He was all that a 
gallant lover should be . . . handsome, courtly and un¬ 
mistakably in love with his bride. 

With the minister’s words, "I now pronounce you man 
and wife,” Alma slipped from the room. Never could she 
allow Aunt Bet to see the tears she could not control or 
allow her to hear the sobs she could not repress as she 
thought of the face she so devotedly loved, the voice that 
echoed and reechoed in the deep recesses of her heart. 

When she regained her composure somewhat, when she 
could smile again, she reentered the room, went to her 
aunt’s side, clasped her in a tight embrace and kissed her 
glowing face over and over again. 

"Here,” Fletcher fondly declared: "I’m part of this 
show, you know.” Loosening his wife’s clinging arms, 
he took Alma into his own, whispering tenderly: 

"My more than friend, my daughter almost . . . you 
will always have a place in my heart, you know.” 

With a heart breaking Alma stood, face wreathed in 
smiles, anguish in her soul . . . "Aunt Bet must never 
know,” she kept whispering. "Aunt bet must never 
know!” 

Then the newly-wedded couple went away . . . the 
last guest departed and Alma was left alone to face her 
problem. ... 


CHAPTER XV 


In the days that immediately followed her aunt’s mar¬ 
riage, Alma felt a terrible loneliness. In order that she’d 
be near the base of operations in the development of 
her lease and to escape this deadly monotony, she 
decided to locate in the little town nearest to her land, 
at the end of the railroad. 

Each morning Jed would call for her and together 
they would go to the lease. Here they would spend the 
day, watching the hole’s progress. 

Then they struck their first showing of oil sand, Jed 
was hysterical with excitement. When it proved non¬ 
productive, he was almost ill with disappointment. 

Every conceivable obstacle was encountered in their 
work. One discouragement rapidly followed another. 
Lost tools; pipe collapsed, oceans of water to be cased 
off. Then when they thought they had everything 
straightened out, when everything seemed to be running 
smoothly, they ran into a faulty formation. A crevice 
was penetrated, running parallel to the test and the hole 
was completely lost! 

After days spent in strenuous labor, pouring ton after 
ton of cement into the hole, the crevice was closed and 
drilling resumed. 

Drillers had long since commenced to call the lease 
"Misery Lease.” Each tower saw a new crew on the 
derrick floor. The well seemed to be hoodooed! 

The last known oil bearing sand was penetrated. All 
180 


Pisces’ Child 


181 


possibilities for a producer had been exhausted. It was 
an apparent fact that the lease was non-productive. 

Mystery Lease was a freak. Surrounded on all four 
sides by wells of gusher proportion, it was dry! 

Alma was disappointed. Not on account of the money 
involved, but on Jed’s account. His mother, now a 
widow, depended on him for her support and he had 
builded such high hopes of the things he was going to do 
for her. Secretly she began to wonder how she could 
help him without his knowledge. He was such a proud, 
independent little gentleman; she knew he would vigor¬ 
ously oppose and resent unearned help. 

She was not satisfied in the test. Wanted to make one 
more effort. Against the advice of all the men working 
on the well, she gave orders that the hole be shot. 

The Mystery well had excited the curiosity of all the 
oil field fraternity. On the day they planned to shoot 
the well, a crowd of spectators composed of lease-hounds 
and scouts, were there to watch proceedings. 

The shooter made careful, deliberate preparations. For 
caution’s sake, flow lines were connected to a battery 
of storage tanks. 

A slicker over her dress, a broad-brimmed hat pulled 
down over her hair, Alma stood near by attentively 
watching. Jed was everywhere: in the derrick until the 
exasperated shooter told him in gruff tones to "get out 
and stay out!” Then he took up a position near Alma 
and nearly drove her wild with his continual, "We’re 
going to strike it, we’re going to strike it, I know we 
are, I feel it in my bones!” 


182 


Pisces* Child 


She told him it was probably rheumatism that he felt, 
if it was in his bones. 

A dirty, oil-besmeared roustabout ambled up to them, 
observing, ”1 ’spose you’ll be orderin’ us to run a levee 
across the canyon there to catch your oil for you, won’t 
you, Sonny?” 

“Bet we will, too,” Jed retorted, not realizing that 
he was being good-naturedly kidded. 

Only a spray of mud and water and a rattle of loose 
stones hitting the top of the derrick, resulted in the 
shot. 

Alma turned away. She could not endure the hope¬ 
less expression on Jed’s face as he realized that all the 
air castles he’d been building were falling in ruins at 
his feet. 

Then a strange tremor of the earth could be felt. A 
deep rumble, ominous in its sound, began to issue from 
the center of the derrick. It rapidly increased in 
volume! 

The men who had been standing inactive, flew into 
frenzied action and a wild scurry was made to close 
the valves and thus control that demon of underground 
fury. 

But the Titantic energy laughed at their puny efforts 
to control its strength. With a roar that was heard for 
miles around and a thunder that shook the earth on all 
sides of the rig, it shot up through the derrick, gurgling, 
hissing and howling in its sudden release of pent-up 
power. In its first wild abandon and freedom, the crown 
block was blown off and parts of the rig were hurled 
into the air! Connections were torn loose with the out- 


Pisces’ Chil£> 


183 


pouring of gas as though they had been constructed 
of paper. Then the oil flowed out in an uncontrolled 
stream, covering the derrick, the ground and running 
down the hillside in rivers of oil! 

The roustabout’s wild, idle prophesy was fulfilled. 
Earthen tanks failed to hold the overflow and levees 
were hastily thrown across the canyon in a vain effort 
to prevent the oil’s escape to the river. An army of men 
and teams worked day and night trying to control the 
non-diminishing flow of oil. 

Alma found Jed standing beside his little car, weep¬ 
ing, with no effort made to control his mortification in 
finding it all be-spattered with oil. He became recon¬ 
ciled slightly with her assurance that he could now buy 
a hundred new cars if he so desired. 

Never before had such a well been drilled in as that 
of The Mystery Oil Development Company’s Number 
One on the Alma Coleman Lease. Newspapers featured 
the well and the promoters came in for a share of the 
publicity. 

Alma was standing near the derrick talking to one 
of the drillers one day soon after the well’s completion. 
A zealous newspaper reporter snapped their picture. 
Alma had turned toward him at the identical time and 
he caught her full face view. 

She hated all forms of publicity and had always 
refused to be photographed; now, she begged the man 
to not feature her and he promised to respect her wish 
. . . but, next day’s papers carried a front page story 
of the Mystery Lease. It was a colorful story! Alma’s 
picture was in the center of the page and she was 


184 


Pisces’ Child 


described as an elusive rather eccentric individual, sup¬ 
posedly of Indian blood. “THE PRINCESS MOON- 
FLOWER,” headlines blared . . . “QUEEN OF THE 
MID-CONTINENT OIL FIELD!” 

Alma was furious. Her friends immediately recog¬ 
nized her and they good-naturedly bombarded her with, 
to her, embarrassing attention. 

Letters poured in on her from all over the United 
States, offering her opportunities of investment of her 
large income. Every imaginable form of advice was 
extended, even to offers of marriage! 

At first, Alma was amused, then she grew tired of the 
endless interest in her affairs. Turning over the mass 
of appeals that came in each mail in ever-increasing 
volume and fervor, she again took refuge in flight. 

Ever since Peter Fletcher had voiced his opinion that 
his Indian wife’s family and her mother’s family were 
indirectly connected, Alma had been intending to verify 
her own suspicion that the crest on her bowl and that 
engraved above the old Indian territory home-site were 
identical. She often reproached herself that she had 
allowed other interests to prevent her doing so, now . . . 
to escape publicity, she slipped away and turned her 
steps that way. 

A feeling of reverence came to her as she stood again 
beneath the giant elms that grew close beside the old 
mansion. One tree’s over-shadowing nearness had ob¬ 
structed sight of that crest when she, as an inquisitive 
girl, had stood there before. Now she saw that without 
a doubt, the engraving was the same as that on the bowl 
handed down from generation to generation in her own 


Pisces’ Child 


185 


family. In her own veins flowed the blood of the same 
French ancestor that had by the strangeness of fate, 
been the progenitor of Phil Fletcher’s mother! 

Curiosity satisfied, much as one in a dream, Alma 
followed the trail traveled twenty-two years before . . . 
she wanted to again visit the Trading Post site. 

For hours before her arrival there, she visualized its 
appearance. She longed for its peaceful solitude, feeling 
that if she could just wander once more along the river, 
with nothing to be heard but its soothing ripple of 
water, she would be content. Here in the scenes associ¬ 
ated with happy girlhood, she hoped to regain her 
courage and to be able to again face life. . . . She had 
long ago given up all hope of Phil’s coming to her. 

He had been back in the United States for a long time 
. . . famous from the discovery of a great city hidden 
deep in the interior of a South American province. She 
had read many articles relating to his exploration of that 
region . . . articles filled with praise of his achievement 
which they stated was of immense historical value. 

Her very being now cried aloud for the grassy, shady 
river bank. She wanted to throw herself there and 
purge her soul of its bitterness in unattained ambitions 
and dreams that she realized now, would never be 
materialized. But even that small consolation was, she 
found, to be denied her. 

On the site of the old Stomp Ground, to her filled 
with poignant memories, stood a huge oil refinery. Its 
gigantic chimneys belched out great volumes of black 
smoke that settled over and covered the entire country 
with a sooty dark pall. The one-time stately trees that 


186 


Pisces 5 Child 


grew on the river’s edge, held up mute, stark limbs, 
pathetic and forlorn. Alma fancied that they were beg¬ 
ging for mercy and relief from the deadly, seeping oil, 
penetrating their roots and steadily driving away their 
life-sustaining moisture. 

The river, which she had always remembered as an 
inviting stream, a joy to man, bird and beast, was now 
an evil, odorous, slimy and sluggish thing, repulsive as it 
slipped along between banks upon which all vegetation 
had long since ceased to grow. It made her think it was 
ashamed of its very existence! 

Only one spot remained as cherished in Alma’s 
memories. "See-heap-long-ways,” the red clay butte 
which she had named "Point Lookout!” On its top still 
stood the live-oak tree. 

Drawn by the lure of the tree’s glistening green leaves, 
untarnished by the changed atmospheric conditions, 
Alma circled an immense pipe yard, picked her way 
between trucks and wagons loaded with pipe and other 
oil-field paraphernalia. Stepping daintily over pools of 
grime and filthy oil, she started to climb the butte, 

No longer could she scale its trunk and no longer 
could she nestle in the security of its sheltering green 
depths to dream wonderful dreams. But . . . she could 
sink down onto the ground at the tree’s base to pour 
out her heartaches in a blessed, peace-restoring, com¬ 
forting flood of tears . . . which she did. 

The sun was just sinking in a blaze of crimson, golden 
glory ... its parting rays threw a bright beam upon the 
head of a man who was laboriously ascending the butte. 
In an abstracted manner, Alma, her weeping over, 


Pisces' Child 


187 


watched his approach. Then when quite near, he lifted 
his head and her eyes met his in startled recognition. 

"Phil,” she whispered, fearing to break the spell, not 
daring to believe the vision was real. 

He paused, incredulous wonder in his eyes . . . again 
she whispered, "Phil!” With a sobbing cry of joy, he 
covered the ground that lay between them with a single 
bound . . . dropping to his knees by her side, he 
hungrily, fiercely, gathered her into her arms. 

After a time they became coherent and each began 
to ask the other questions. In answer to her "How did 
you know I was here?” he explained that he had not 
known . . . had just felt an irresistible urge to visit the 
spot . . . that he had, in fact, despaired of ever seeing 
her again. 

"I’ve searched for you for months,” he declared. "I 
had commenced to think that Alma Sherman was a 
myth!” 

A sudden illuminating thought came to Alma. . . . 
"Don’t you know who I really am?” she asked. 

"Who you now are is of small concern to me,” he 
answered, lifting her chin and gazing deeply into her 
eyes. "I know who you will be just as soon as I can 
locate a minister!” 


FINIS 


























































































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